


An Ocean, Two Continents, Eight Time Zones and Heartache between Them

by 1JaggedOutlawQueen



Series: JAG The Unsinkable Pixie [1]
Category: JAG (TV 1995)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1JaggedOutlawQueen/pseuds/1JaggedOutlawQueen
Summary: Harm & Mac. Two years have passed since they last saw or even spoke with each other. Why did they part company and what's next? AN: This story became Volume 1 of a continuing saga for Harm, Mac, and my original character- the unsinkable pixie, Miss Laura O'Hara - With appearances by a few old friends.
Relationships: Sarah MacKenzie/Harmon Rabb Jr.
Series: JAG The Unsinkable Pixie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872718
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. She Misses Him

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome reader to one of my first writing attempts!
> 
> I realize that years have trickled by since we've last seen them on the TV, for better or worse, I blame their abrupt departure on incompetent writers who lost their feel for their characters. I detested the last three seasons. Simply put, they sucked! Despite my lack of enjoyment in the last seasons, the story I'm about to tell will follow the series closely up until the last few episodes; which I intend to discard entirely in order to rewrite them for my own personal enjoyment, and hopefully yours as well; save one tragic twist of events.  
> Why tell the story now, after all this time? I guess I'm just in a JAG frame of mind, because for the last week, I have not been able to get one of my favorite would-be TV couples off my mind. I've been reading fiction posted here and… I miss them!
> 
> Although I have not posted here before, nor have I written anything previously for Harm & Mac, I have written other fan fiction based on the writings of a much loved author elsewhere. Plus, although I cannot yet see the entire story clearly, I have the bones of one rattling around inside my head, and the skeleton wants to dance! I know my process well enough; the complete story will be unknown to me unless I start writing. So, with that said, I am letting the skeleton out of the closet! His story is begging to be told, and I fear I shall have no peace from his rattling about until I comply!  
> I'm glad you decided to join Harm, Mac & me on this adventure! You should expect it to be a multi-chapter story full of surprises as I'm not quite certain where it will lead us. At this point, I am their storyteller and their typist. Only Harm and Mac know where we're headed for sure … Or do they? They never really seemed to know exactly where they were going before; only that, wherever it was, they were going together! So, let's catch up with them, shall we?
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own JAG, or its characters. DPB owned them, and if you ask me, his ownership privileges should have been revoked before the beginning of the eighth season. No, I don't own them, but I love them.

* * *

**Saturday, August 18, 2007**

**16:30 Hours**

**Colonel Sarah Mackenzie's Office; San Diego California**

With a flourish, she scrawls her signature on an unhappy Petty Officer's request for transfer and dumps it in her outbox. Let someone else deal with her! The woman doesn't belong here anyway. or even in uniform for that matter. Consistent tardiness, petty squabbles with coworkers, and mild to moderate insubordination are all a part of the woman's file. Morale in Mac's office is good. Her staff seems to like and respect her. Well, with the exception of Petty Officer Christine Brandon

Alone in the office, Mac shakes her head in frustration over Brandon's behavior and rises from her chair. Discouraged, she turns to gaze out the window behind her desk and watches the comings and goings of men and women in uniform as, not for the first time, her private thoughts leave her feeling cold and lonesome.

The sun of the late summer afternoon outside her window does nothing to warm her. She stands at ease; hands clasped behind her back. It's Saturday, and where is she? In her office again, that's where. She hasn't had a day off in over two years. Correction, she hasn't taken a day off in over two years. "I should." she thinks. "I should just pack my briefcase and walk out the door until 0700 Monday." But she knows she won't. Where would she go? Home to her empty little two-bedroom cottage on the beach? No. There's nothing to do there. These days she's best at work.

At work her mind is active; preoccupied by the now mundane, if once exciting, details of her job. At home, with nothing to do, she starts to think; and she shouldn't think. She shouldn't think because every time she does, she thinks of him. She misses him. She misses him in a way that pierces her soul and leaves her temporarily unable to breathe. Realizing she's done it again; she inhales deeply and shoves thoughts of him away. Grudgingly, stubbornly her mind returns to work. God, when did she start to hate her job?

She still loves being a Marine, but gone are the days of courtroom battles, lively case debates, TAD assignments, and investigations abroad. Now it's managing her office. Now it's all about managing the people under her. Giving orders, paperwork, and settling ridiculous personnel disputes. She wonders if A.J. Chegwidden felt this way after leaving his SEAL duty behind. Thoughts of her former CO make her smile sadly. He had no trouble commanding JAG, but she knows now how terribly bored he must've been. There's just no fire in her blood anymore.

At length, she mutters, "Suck it up Marine!" for her own benefit and turns back to her desk. She catches sight of the small photograph of herself and a small, dark haired, dark eyed girl, who might well have been her daughter in another life.

Laura is a brilliant gem; the one bright spot in her life here in San Diego. In the photograph both of them are smiling. The child is in her lap, hugged tightly from behind while Mac's chin lightly rests on her slender shoulder; both of them on the verge of giggling over some silly thing the photographer said. Who took the photograph? Mac isn't sure she remembers, but then again, maybe she just doesn't want to.

Laura is her niece, and Laura makes her recent tedious and often maddening reunion with her mother worth the struggle.

After Joseph Mackenzie's funeral many years before, Mac had turned away from the scant, nearly nonexistent, group of mourners, expecting to find her mother at the rear of the gathering as she had been only moments before. Sarah had wanted to speak with her only to find her gone. Her disappointment had lasted only seconds. What else could she expect from the woman who abandoned her on her 15th birthday? With no knowledge of how to contact her, Mac had once again pushed thoughts of her mother out of her mind. Twice left, without so much as a goodbye on either occasion, she decided she was better off for the absence.

Then, on a Tuesday afternoon a year and ½ ago she had been sitting in the sun at a local sidewalk cafe; sipping espresso on her lunch break and reading the paper. She lowered her paper when she heard her first name called out in the form of a question with the lilt of surprise.

Mac’s jaw dropped. She wasn't sure if she wanted to approach or flee the scene. Immobilized by her indecision, she stood helplessly, watching as Deanne O'Hara called her name again and hurried forward. She was carrying numerous shopping bags, and closely followed by a woman with badly bleached blond hair, and the dark eyed little beauty now seen in the photograph on Mac's desk. Laura. The child had trailed behind the two women valiantly struggling to keep up with them. She was hindered by a complicated looking brace that covered her left leg hip to toe, and the need for a small walker that assisted her to stand upright. Laura looked tired on that first day but smiled brightly at the stranger in the Marine uniform. The blonde woman was noticeably younger than Mac and with a painfully awkward introduction by her mother, Cassandra O'Hara was revealed to be her sister.

Somehow Mac managed to overcome her shock and shake the younger woman's hand; if somewhat stiffly. "Just call me Casey; not Cassandra okay?" she bubbled while Mac nodded numbly and stared at Casey's face.

Her first observation about her newly found sister was that there could be no doubt of their kinship because the poor girl was the spitting image of Joseph Mackenzie. God help her, Mac thought privately.

Before she could form any verbal response, Casey had pulled her hand free of Mac's and opted instead to throw her arms around her in an unexpected and totally unwanted embrace. Mac stood there, unprepared to respond, straight-spined and stiff as a sentry as Casey gushed. "I've heard so much about you!"

"I can't say the same." Mac thought bitterly as she was forced to inhale the scents of cheap cigarettes and liquor in the other woman's hair and on her clothes. Desperate to be released from the overzealous hug, Mac had placed her palms against Casey's shoulders. Gently pushing back and stepping away, she had asked to know Laura's name and invited the tired little girl to sit in the empty chair at her table. Laura's "thank you" was barely above a whisper, but her smile was brilliant. If not for her, Mac would have turned and walked away without ever looking back.

Yes, Laura is worth the newly forming difficult relationships with her mother, and even with her sister, though Mac can't say she likes the 22-year-old woman very much. Just shy of 16 years younger, Mac finds her to be overly self-absorbed and indulgent and largely unconcerned with the welfare of her young daughter.

Mac picks up the photograph on her desk and looks at the sweet face of her niece closely. She chides herself privately for being judgmental about Casey's relationship with Laura. She feels that her observations are not unwarranted, but she also knows that there is a small part of her that resents Casey.

She has come to know now what she had not known when she was 15. Her mother had discovered that she was pregnant with another of Joe's children. She simply couldn't bear to bring another child into the unhappy house and she also knew that she would never be able to manage caring for herself, Sarah, and a newborn. Fleeing, and leaving Sarah behind, was heartbreaking but the only logical option she felt she had. Once again, at the memory of hearing this explanation of her mother's sudden departure from her life, angry bile churns in the marine's stomach.

She stares at Laura's wide expressive eyes and desperately wishes for the train wreck of her childhood not to be revisited upon this child. She desperately wishes that she had someone to talk to, someone to share her dark worries with. She almost reaches for the phone, but suddenly she can't stop the tears from coming as she recalls the last time she saw him. She remembers the unbearable pain of his parting words. She knows he didn't mean the terrible thing he said to her. He was grieving. She knows that. She should call him; she knows that too. She doesn't pick up the phone. She misses him.


	2. He Misses Them

* * *

**Saturday, August 18, 2007**

**08:30 HRS**

**Captain Harmon Rabb, Junior's Office; London England**

The Force Judge Advocate General pinches the bridge of his nose in a fruitless attempt to fend off an approaching headache. He is in a bad mood. Outside his office, in a bullpen somewhat smaller, but not terribly unlike the bullpen at JAG headquarters in DC, he can hear, or rather almost feel, the low murmur of discord between two of his senior officers. He had thought he would have the place to himself. Don't they have lives of their own? It is Saturday for God's sake!

He knows he is being unreasonable. He has good officers under his command. Two of which have just come into the office on Saturday to do trial prep for an upcoming case on Monday.

Sadly though, those two officers are always at each other's throats and not in the "friendly competition" kind of way. No, not the way they used to be.

Damn it! Why did everything always have to remind him of her? Sure, they squabbled, bickered, debated, and vehemently discussed things; usually because each one of them had their own idea about a different way to arrive at the same place. They weren't frequently hateful toward one another though. That, while not unheard of, was a very rare occurrence for them.

No, between his subordinates, he dealt with thinly veiled outright animosity that some might call homicidal! He worried one day they would come to blows and he would be out, not one but two good officers, having no choice but to send them each to opposite hemispheres of the globe.

He got up from the chair behind his desk, crossed the room, and shut the door with a little more force than he had intended. The resulting noise effectively prevented any hushed verbal hint of strife from permeating his office, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension either in the air or inside his head.

Who was he kidding? Yes, _they_ had long ago given up heated verbal battles, but he would hand in his gold wings and relinquish his treasured flight status right this very minute for just one chance to have a good, loud, old fashioned, knockdown drag out with her. He hated fighting with her! She was usually the more competitive of the two; usually being the operative word. This was compounded by the fact that oftentimes he hadn't intended to start a disagreement in the first place. It was just his dumb luck to frequently stumble into the mine field of her emotions. Except for the last time. The last time he'd seen warning signs ahead. Somewhere in his mind he had heard the little voice that told him to slam on the brakes, but his heart just wouldn't listen to logic. His heart wanted someone, no not just someone…her… not just to understand, but to feel as bad as he felt. He had no right to do it. He knew that, but he'd done it anyway and when it was done the woman who had brought so much never-before-heard music into his life, so much beautiful noise, had simply walked away from him with nothing more than a barely audible whisper.

Yes, after this two-year-long cold war with its unbearable silence, he would let her say anything she wanted. She could scream, hurl whatever horrible accusation she deemed worthy at him if only she would pick up the phone, answer an e-mail, or send a damn Christmas card!

But he has no right to hold that against her either when he hasn't bothered to do any of those things himself.

To make matters worse, not only has he intimidated his subordinates into silence, but he feels his mood worsening because it is raining again. It had been raining the first time he set foot in London two years ago. He is so sick of London weather! He is sick of all the rain and most of all he is sick of himself! But, does it have to rain nearly every damn day? Even the rain makes him think of her after the bizarre events several years ago when the Admiral's chair fell out from under him. He grimaces at the memory; at least A.J. Chegwidden had managed to be gruff but genial. He is becoming an irascible old horse's ass and he knows it.

He looks at the photo of Mattie on his desk. It's a candid snapshot taken on the spur of the moment in his old loft. She was leaning on her elbows against the bar that separated the kitchen from the living area smiling just after rolling her eyes at him. He couldn't remember what he'd done that time in particular to be the beneficiary of that look, but he was still familiar with it; even after these two lonely years it was still fresh in his mind. It should be. He'd seen it often enough when she was still with him. He misses the girl who is his daughter in every way that matters. He can see her laughing at him in the photo. He can hear her too; Mattie gently shaming him for his current behavior. "Duh, Harm, I know you miss me. You're supposed to miss me." she tells him with her usual spunk. "There's nothing you can do about missing me, but missing her is all your fault… And it's just plain stupid too!"

He groans aloud at his own thoughts. His head is throbbing now, and he almost turns away from the girl's photograph; the hollow ache in his heart threatening to overtake him once more.

He has two choices that will make him feel better. The easier way is to walk out of his office bellowing at his two quarrelsome senior staff to pack it in and go home for the rest of the weekend before he busts them each down to former ranks. The infinitely harder, but undoubtedly more effective, way will be to get off his six and fix the mess he made of things two years ago.

Mattie's picture continues to laugh at him. "Yeah, Harm! Go fix it!"

God, how he misses them. He misses them both.


	3. Something's Gotta Give

* * *

**Saturday, August 18, 2007**

**17:15 HRS**

**Back in San Diego**

Mac stands up and taps the edges of a formidable stack of paperwork on the desk blotter; straightening up just a bit before leaving. Ready to dump the whole stack in her outbox, she catches sight of the previously signed approval of transfer for Petty Officer Brandon. She picks it up and returns it to the center of her desk, intending to mull it over for what's left of the weekend before making a final determination. She then puts the larger stack of paperwork on top of what is already in the box. Well, she thinks with only tepid satisfaction, at least the day wasn't a total waste.

Moving around the desk, she picks up her briefcase and cover. But, as she slides the key into the lock on her office door, she changes her mind and reverses direction. With briefcase and cover in her left hand, she re-enters and snatches the approval of transfer off her desk with her right and drops it in the shredder on her way out the door for the second time.

No! she decides; with a bit of Marine-green attitude. I am not going to transfer a problem like Petty Officer Brandon out for someone else to deal with! Just like me, Brandon decided to join the military. She can get her act together, or she can face the consequences… Right here in San Diego!

Head held a little higher, feeling as if maybe she did something right with this day; she, at last, walks through her door, palms her keys and heads for the exit. Minutes later, sliding in behind the wheel of her car, she deposits her briefcase and cover onto the front passenger seat and is backing out of the lot when said briefcase begins to tremble slightly due to the vibrating cell phone inside it. One hand on the wheel and one eye on the rearview mirror, she extracts the phone and flips it open. "Colonel Mackenzie." She announces in greeting.

"Aunt Mac…" Mac instantly recognizes her nieces - I'm trying to be brave, but I'm really sort of scared - voice. Inwardly, the marine sighs, while outwardly, she makes a show of staying calm.

"Hi Laura. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, but can you come and get me?"

"How come." Mac asks casually; already making the decision to turn right toward her sister's place rather than left toward her own.

She can hear Laura's exasperation in her answer. "Because Derek is here again." She says referring to one of her mother's on again/off again boyfriends.

"Are they fighting?"

"They always fight, Aunt Mac."

"Are they screaming Laura?"

"Not yet; but they're gonna."

"Where are you, baby?"

"In my room. I got Candy with me."

"That's good. You keep her close, okay? I'll be there in three minutes. Can you hold on for me for just three minutes?"

"Yeah, I can do it… but stay on the phone with me, okay?"

"You betcha. Is your door locked?"

"No, it doesn't lock, but I put my chair under the knob."

"Okay, that's good." Mac says, stepping a little harder on the accelerator. She can't hear raised voices over the phone line yet, but she remembers all too well the urge to lock herself in. She knows what that means. The amount of time it takes abusive people to go from verbally combative to physically violent can be clocked with gasoline and a lit match. Instead of asking questions that will scare Laura even more she asks, "So, you wanna come crash at my place tonight?"

"Uh huh." The girl says; her voice losing some of its pluck.

"Okay, we can watch a movie if you want to." Mac says cruising easily through a deserted four-way stop against the red.

"Uh huh." Laura repeats, and in the background, Mac can hear the first strains of raised voices. She can't make out the words yet; not that she needs to. She could take an educated guess but doesn't bother. She knows that before long, she won't have to guess.

"Laura, where's Candy?"

"She's givin' me a hug."

"She is? How does she do that?"

"She lays down; puts her big belly on my lap. She won't let me get up. She's too heavy."

"I know she's too heavy." "Mac says thinking of the big black Lab who weighs at least 30 pounds more than her niece does. "Does that hurt your leg, kiddo?"

"Na uh. I like it; feels snuggly."

"Okay, just checking. You and Candy stay in there and snuggle. I'm turning into the trailer park. I'll be there in 90 seconds."

"That's good, cuz I wanna leave now. They're yelling bad words!"

"I know baby. I'm coming."

"You mean you can hear them too."

"I hear them Laura. Just hang in there, kiddo, and give that giant lap dog of yours a good scratch behind the ears for me, okay?"

At the end of a dirt drive, alongside lot number 14, Mac thrusts her emergency brake into place, leaves the engine running, the door open, and sprints for the double-wide trailer's front door. She doubts they even know she's here, but all the neighbors know they are home; that's for sure.

Loud angry expletives and other unpleasant sounds erupt from somewhere inside the trailer. Glass breaks, furniture splinters and cracks loudly; at least Mac prays its furniture and not Laura's bedroom door.

"You still with me pumpkin?" Mac says into the phone.

No longer able to play tough, Laura wails. "Aunt Mac! Get me out, now!"

Rage and adrenaline scorch through Sarah Mackenzie's veins causing her blood to boil. Her heart hammers, the sound of its beating audible inside her own head. Why do some adults think that it's okay to scare the hell out of little kids! Selfish bastards!" she curses silently. " Cover your ears Laura and hang on. Count to 20 slowly and then move the chair away from the door. I'll be there. I promise."

"Sarah, what are you doing here?"

Mac whirls, doing a haphazard about face as her mother hisses loudly from the end of the drive. Mac waves her off. "Go back to your trailer, Mom and dial 911!"

Deanne O'Hara stands rooted in place. "Sarah you can't go in there. He won't hurt Laura. He's only mad at Cassandra."

Mac manages to crouch low and throw her mother a scathing look at the same moment that one of the kitchen windows explodes, showering glass down over her. A large cast iron skillet thuds onto the patchy lawn. She doubts that she has been seen from inside the trailer or that it was aimed at her deliberately, as it lands 10 inches away from her. It is closely followed by a beer bottle, still more than half full, and splattering amber liquid as it tumbles through the air. Mac ducks the bottle but gets wet anyway and this sends her fury to a new height.

"Damn it, Mom! If that's what you need to tell yourself so that you can sleep tonight, then you go right ahead! You can either stand there like a petrified stone, or you can help me out and go call 911 now! I'm going to get my niece out of there!" The clock in her head counts down… 15… 14.

The marine doesn't wait for an answer. She has already decided that it will be suicide to go through the front door and she is rounding the trailer's far end before the older woman even begins to move back across the narrow street… 12… 11… 10

Using the hand not clutching her phone for leverage, she catapults up and over the railing of the tiny back porch. Losing a low-heeled shoe mid-jump, she teeters slightly when she touches down, and then she kicks the other shoe off and away. She doesn't want to trip over it when she exits with Laura in her arms.

Crouching low and to one side of the door she tries the doorknob and breathes a silent "thank you" when it turns easily. She opens the door only a few inches and peers into the empty hallway. Her sister and Derek must still be at the front end of the trailer. They are both still screaming about the fact that he thinks she's been out with some other guy. Mac doesn't care. If they're both still screaming, then they're both still breathing… 8

With her back to the wall inside the dark narrow hallway, she quick steps 2/3 its length until she reaches the second door… 6… 5. Mac hears the sweet wail of police sirens in the distance as she rat-a-tats the fingernails of her free hand lightly against the door. She breathes into the phone, "It's me baby. I'm here." Before she can say, "Let me in." she hears the wooden back of the chair scraping against the underside of the doorknob. Laura moves slowly on the opposite side of the door, no doubt struggling against panic and the cumbersome leg brace. Mac guesses that it probably slows her down as much as it helps her in a situation like this… 3… 2

The door opens; just a narrow slit at first. Candy sticks her cold wet nose out to investigate, sniffing cautiously at Mac and then the dog wags her tail when the door opens wider. Laura, having abandoned her walker, is clutching the dog's collar with one hand, and leaning on her for support. Mac pockets her phone quickly. Catching the girl under the arms, she lifts her with the quiet command, "Jump." The little girl does and her good leg wraps around Mac's waist with a fierce grip. Her slender arms find their way around Mac's shoulders while she buries her face in the curve of her aunt's neck. Mac rubs her back and the dog's head just once, and then she takes hold of Candy's collar, intending to make sure that Laura's furry friend doesn't head in the wrong direction, toward the hateful couple. But the dog needs no guidance, so Sarah turns back only long enough to grab the child's walker. The dog leads the way to safety, on swift, silent paws, bounding through the open back door out into the early evening. She stops only once on the porch, turning back briefly to make certain they are following, and then she runs, full-tilt, through the backyard, around the side of the trailer, down to the end of the drive, where she bounds into the driver's seat of Mac's waiting Corvette through the still-open driver's door.

The wailing police sirens are no longer distant. Mac estimates that they are only a block away and the violent shouting match inside the trailer rages on. She hears the next escalation, and knows it for what it is, the first sounds of physical pain. To distract Laura, she nuzzles the girl's cheek with her own, and whispers, "That's one smart puppy you've got Laura. Look at her, sitting behind the wheel of my car. She knows it's time to leave."

Laura glances at her panting dog, but there is no smile. Instead, she wrinkles her nose and says matter-of-factly, and with complete absence of malice, "Aunt Mac. You stink like beer."

Mac gives the girl an affectionate squeeze as a police cruiser pulls up beside her car. "Yeah, I know I do. I'm not happy about it either. What do you say we talk to this nice police officer and then go back to my place and take a bubble bath while he sorts things out between your mom and Derek?

Laura looks at the trailer, and a shutter rolls through her small body. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

"I insist on it."

This brings a flicker of a smile to the unhappy girl's face. Mac walks toward the police officer as Laura squishes up her little face and seems to consider something of grave importance. Mac figures she's on the verge of asking some incredibly difficult to answer question and then bursts out laughing when she's proven wrong.

"Aunt Mac." Laura says in a solemn tone of voice. "Mom said she would make me dinner, but then Derek came over, so she didn't and now I'm starving. Aunt Mac, I need a cheeseburger, right now!"

Mac marvels at both her fragility and her resiliency. She knows the tears, the fear, and the anger will resurface later, most likely when Laura feels safe enough to allow it, but for now all she wants is a cheeseburger and a safe place to spend the night. Mac can handle that.


	4. A Step in the Right Direction

* * *

**Saturday, August 18, 2007**

**14:45 HRS**

**London**

Before Harm hangs up the phone, he issues the same warning he was once given to one of his senior officers, Commander Robert Gantry. "Don't let anyone go home early."

"No sir, Captain Rabb, of course not."

"I'll be back in a week."

"Enjoy your vacation, sir."

"I hope I do." Harm mutters as he hangs up the phone.

Standing in his living room, Commander Robert Gantry stares at the receiver in his hand for a moment and shakes his head before returning it to the cradle.

"What's going on, honey?"

He turns to face his wife, Tina, with an odd smile on his face and accepts the glass of iced tea she's holding out to him. "Thank God, tea with ice in it. These Brits drive me crazy with their hot tea."

"Robbie, honey, quit moaning about the Brits and their tea. We've been here for a year. Don't you think you should be through with the culture shock already? Tell me what the captain had to say. That was him on the phone?"

"He's going on vacation."

"He is; are you sure? You said he's the first one in every morning and usually the last to leave."

The man nods, "There's more; he's leaving me in charge."

"Oh Robbie, that's wonderful! … Don't screw it up though." She warns with trepidation. "Don't let him down, and whatever you do, don't set the break room on fire again."

"Oh, for the love of God, woman!" Robert Gantry groans, rolling his eyes, "That was not my fault!"

"If you say so, hon." His wife calls sweetly over her shoulder as she exits the room.

Harm's sea bag is packed. His flat is clean. The trash is sacked and waiting by the door. His leave has been approved, and he has printed his boarding passes, for both DC and San Diego. His office is secure. Opening the door as he shrugs into his rain coat, he then walks the waiting trash to the curb for pick up in the morning before returning to the small foyer to collect his keys and his bag. As he pulls the front door closed behind him, he catches sight of the photograph of Mattie sitting on the end table beside his favorite chair in the living room. "Wish me luck kid."

Silently, she smiles back at him. He sighs; all that remains now is to get on the damn plane and cross the pond.


	5. On A Stormy Night in San Diego

* * *

**Saturday, August 18, 2007**

**22:03 HRS**

The guest bedroom in Sarah Mackenzie's cottage on the beach wasn't originally intended to be a bedroom at all. Two of the four walls have floor to ceiling inlaid bookshelves. A huge picture window takes up 90% of the third wall which faces west and overlooks the beach. She has no doubt that when this place was built this room was meant to be a bibliophile's paradise. Books, books, and more books along with an absolutely stunning view of the water; this room was the reason she chose the place. Four hours after moving in, this room held every book she owned, with plenty of room for more, a desk, her laptop, and a hurricane lamp. Less than a month after she moved in she purchased a ceiling fan for the room and a daybed crafted from cedar. She placed the bed along the wall that separated this room from her kitchen. She did so because even though her living room and the master bedroom are comfortable, this was, and still is, the room she prefers. On the rare occasion that she is home, this is where she spends most of her time; the big picture window and the beach beyond it calling out to her the way a flame calls out to a moth. Somehow, it is a soothing balm for her lonely heart, and she had taken to sleeping here more often than she sleeps in the queen size bed in the master bedroom even before Laura had become a part of her life.

She doesn't know where this unexpected storm came from, but she's glad it's here. All the lights in the house are out by choice, except for her grandmother's hurricane lamp. It emits a soft glow that is just enough to keep a sleepy person from stubbing their toe on an unseen object in the darkness. Overhead, the ceiling fan turns lazily droning out the kind of soft white noise that on a night when the sky and the ocean are calm will ease you down into the depths of sleep. Outside, thunder rolls, the sound low and ominous at first then, after more than an hour of dry lightning, the first fat raindrops begin to fall. They shimmer on the rolling water's surface essentially re-creating the stars that cannot be seen; hidden far above the thick storm clouds in the sky. The lightning lends the illusion of fire to the spectacle; temporarily setting these relocated stars aflame with each flash.

Mac catches herself wishing he were here with her again, and she wonders just exactly how many times she's made that same wish these last two years. It doesn't seem to matter what the night brings. Stormy or calm, wild frothy seas, or tranquil tides, once she settles beneath the blankets and turns her eyes to the water; she wishes.

Thunder booms, loud enough to rattle the windows. Lightening splits the sky; its fire dances promptly atop the waves and vanishes in the time it takes to blink. Mac is lying on her left side with her back against the bed's cedar railing when the little girl spooned against her reaches beneath the blankets for her right arm. Finding it, Laura draws it around herself and snuggles deeper into the embrace.

Mac feels something, more like a shiver than a shudder, go through Laura's body. "Does it scare you, baby?" She whispers. "We can go to the other bedroom. There are drapes on the windows in there. You won't be able to see the water or the storm."

She starts to sit up and Laura holds tight to her arm pulling her back down. "No! I'm not scared Aunt Mac. It's so awesome! Can we please stay?" She begs in wonderment. "It's the kind of thing you wanna see with your bestest friend ever!"

Mac chuckles softly and settles back in, Laura swats lightly at her arm. "Don't laugh Aunt Mac. I'm being serious here." She announces solemnly.

"I know you are. I'm laughing because I was just thinking the exact same thing."

Laura turns her head, stretching her neck awkwardly to be able to look at Mac. She wears a puzzled expression on her little face. "You were? You wish Liam was here too?"

Mac laughs again. "I wish Harm were here."

Laura giggles. "That's a funny name!"

"It's short for Harmon. Mac yawns. "His friends call him Harm."

"Oh, that's okay I guess."

"Maybe Liam can come over and play tomorrow."

"No, we're mad at each other… But I… Well, I really don't wanna, but I have to say sorry soon 'cause it's been four whole days and I miss him, even if he is just a dumb boy!"

"Why are you mad at him?" Mac asks, chewing on her bottom lip so she won't laugh.

"Because boys say and do dumb things!" She declares emphatically. She shrugs. "Maybe Harm can come over tomorrow instead." She says more quietly, her voice going soft and sleepy.

Mac shakes her head. "Harm lives in London… And we're mad at each other too."

"How come?"

"Because boys say and do dumb things!"

"But Harm is a grownup; right?" She asks very seriously.

"Yeah, he is. Why?"

"So, Liam is still gonna be dumb even when he's a grownup? Aw man, I thought he'd get smarter if he got bigger."

Laughter bubbles out of Mac in the darkness. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." She gasps and kisses the top of the child's head. "but judging from what I've seen; it doesn't work that way!" She rolls onto her back, stares up at the ceiling, and laughs until it becomes contagious and Laura joins in. When she manages to quell her own laughter several seconds later, she asks, "What dumb thing did he do or say to make you mad?"

"He called me a big baby just 'cause I didn't wanna be in the three legged race with him at the school picnic."

"Why didn't you want to?"

"Aunt Mac!' Laura cries out in exasperation. "I've only got one good leg! Duh! And that dumb boy wanted to tie it to one of his. Half the time his shoes aren't even tied! He trips over the laces all the time… And he said he'd hold me up… Yeah right! He must think I'm stupid! So, he went and did the race with Jenny Chatham. I hate Jenny! She has a scooter, and an Iphone, and she laughs at me because I live in a trailer. She told everybody at school that I don't know who my dad is… Which is true, but it's not like I can do anything about that. She's just mean! And Liam doesn't like her either. He only did the race with her because he was mad because I said no."

"He did ask you first, sweetie."

"I know. That's why I gotta go say sorry… but it still sucks!" She adds with a yawn. "Why are you and Harm mad?"

Mac is quiet for several seconds, and in those seconds she realizes that the storm outside is waning as is the one in her broken heart. She whispers, "Someone he loves very much died a few weeks before he moved to London; before I came here to San Diego. I wasn't with him the night she died. I think he was angry with me for that. I'm angry with myself for that. I tried to tell him that I understood. He said I didn't understand; that I couldn't possibly understand and that I will never be able to understand because I will never even have the chance to have what he had with her."

Laura is barely awake when she murmurs, "You're mad at him for that? I don't understand Aunt Mac. Who died?"

The little girl may have actually fallen asleep in the silent second before her aunt found the strength to quietly answer. "His daughter."


	6. The Comforts of an Old Friend

* * *

**Sunday, August 19, 2007**

**11:20 HRS**

**Washington, DC**

**The Roberts' Residence**

Harriett Simms pulls the last of the stubborn weeds from her garden and then places both palms flat against the flagstone that borders one of her vegetable beds and pushes herself up off her knees into a standing position. She removes her gardening gloves, gives them a good shake to dislodge any loose dirt, and then tucks them into the pocket on her apron before brushing dirt and grass off the hem of her dress and legs. She picks up the basket made from woven grapevine and is busy inspecting what she gathered as she walks around the side of her house on her way to the front door. She touches the vegetables enjoying the firm feel and the earthy smell of them. The tomatoes have already burned out for the year. There won't be more of them until next summer, but there is a bit of summer squash left, a few scarce cucumbers, and more purple hull peas than even her hungry bunch can eat. She will shell them and boil them and tonight little A.J. will ask, "Peas again?" But even though he will complain, he never seems to have any trouble eating every bite and usually asking for seconds. Harriett brushes a stray ant off her arm as it crawls out of the basket and she smiles at her own musings as her feet find the driveway.

It isn't until she's nearly at the front porch step that she looks up and catches sight of the tall handsome friend she hasn't seen in just over two years stepping out of the vehicle she hadn't heard approach. Her mouth forms a perfect ‘O’, the fingers of her left hand coming to rest there, as happiness moistens the corners of her wide blue eyes. In her excitement, she loses the basket that had been looped over her right arm. Vegetables scatter at her feet and before she has time to react, he closes the distance between them in three long easy strides, kneels, and is grinning up at her, as he collects the late summer medley and returns it to its basket.

"Harriett" He teases, "It's just me. No reason to go bruising perfectly good veggies."

Her laughter is musical as she swats gently at his wide shoulders. "Oh sir, will you forget the damn vegetables! Stand up and hug me!"

Leaving the basket on the pavement, he complies with the order, wrapping her in one of his big warm hugs with a snappy, "Yes ma'am!"

Standing on tiptoe, she holds to him for long seconds before smacking one of his shoulders again with the heel of her palm.

"Hey! What's that one for?" He objects playfully, leaning back just far enough to gaze down at her.

"It's not like you just decided to show up on a whim Mister; just jumped in the car and drove over. It's a 10-hour flight from London to here. The trip actually took some minimal amount of planning. You had to know 24 hours ago that you were coming. Why didn't you call?"

"Well, I guess I could have." Harm admits slowly, "But, catching you this way was much more fun."

"Humph!" Harriett exclaims. "Still a charming devil, I see. I don't understand you Harm. How is it that you still aren't married?"

"Well, that's not such a mystery Harriet. Charming or not; my mouth gets me out of trouble only almost as often as it gets me into trouble."

The blonde smiles; rolling her bright eyes. "Truer words were never spoken."

He smiles when she goes into her familiar mother hen routine. "Did you just arrive today? Are you tired? You look tired… And well…" She pauses a moment to study his face. "Something else I can't quite put my finger on yet, but it'll come to me. Airplane food leaves a lot to be desired. Are you hungry? And forgive me if this sounds rude, I don't mean for it to, but sir, what ARE you doing here?"

Harm kneels again and picks up the rest of the vegetables. With the fully loaded basket on his arm he stands, places a hand at the small of her back, and guides her to the porch. "First, stop calling me sir. Second, invite me in Harriett and I promise to answer all your questions."

"Oh well, of course, of course, come in." She trots up the steps with her usual nervous energy and reaches for the screen door handle, but he beats her to it, opens the front door for her and waits for her to step inside first.

Before leaving the small alcove at the front door, she steps out of her sandals to avoid getting dirt on the carpets and begins untie-ing her garden apron. "Kitchen?" She asks, already stepping that way.

Harm chuckles and acquiesces as he starts to answer her previous questions, "My flight landed at about 07:30 this morning. Yes, I am tired… And something else." He admits, not naming the thing she can't yet put her finger on. "In-flight meals do indeed leave a lot to be desired. I'm famished. And I'm here because I've come to ask for your help with something… Hey, it's awfully quiet in here." He says, just noticing the house's uncharacteristic silence. "Where are all my godchildren? They can't be in residence. This place normally sounds like a 4th of July parade is underway… or have they settled down in the last two years."

Harriett shakes her head. With motherly exasperation she declares, "If anything they've gotten louder. A.J. and Jimmy are at friends' houses today. My mother is also in town. She took the twins out shopping this morning. I tried to tell her she didn't know what she was getting herself into, but she insisted. All I can say is the twins… Well, they'll be fine. My mother on the other hand… she may not make it back alive."

"Ah, well I was looking forward to seeing them." He says quietly with an obvious note of disappointment. "I guess I should've called first."

Stepping into the kitchen, she dons another apron and leaves the other one on the hook she took the fresh one from. Coming to stand behind the granite countertop, she motions quietly for him to sit on a bar stool on the opposite side as she studies his face closely.

Maintaining eye contact with him as he hands over the basket of vegetables, the penny drops. He puts on a good show. Same old easy-going Harm, but that's what it is, a show. There are fine lines at the corners of his eyes that she has never noticed before. He's gotten older by more than just the two calendar years of his absence from her life. He's 10 pounds lighter, and he didn't need to be. His face is care-worn. His affable smile doesn't reach his eyes, and his eyelids are rimmed ever so faintly with that plumb-pinkish color that most often indicates recent tears. The man before her is beyond miserable. A little piece of Harriet's heart breaks for her friend. Knowing that he probably won't admit it, she gives his hand a gentle squeeze and forces a bright cheery smile,

Setting the basket aside to deal with later, and opening the refrigerator door she peers inside; talking over her shoulder, "Well, what do you want to eat sailor? I've got homemade tomato soup, potato salad, and… Let's see… A nice green salad that… no you won't eat that. It has diced chicken in it."

"It all sounds great Harriett. Don't go to any fuss. What's in the salad besides chicken?"

She gives the bowl a good shake and peels back the Tupperware lid "Three are four different kinds of lettuce, spinach, cucumbers, black beans, green olives, boiled eggs, and shredded Colby Jack." She glances up at him.

"Sounds delicious! I'll just eat around the chicken."

She sets it on the counter, still holding the refrigerator door open with one hip. You want the potato salad or the tomato soup?"

"Yes."

"Which one Harm?" She asks sounding like someone's mother again.

"Both."

She gives him a startled smile. "Well I guess you are hungry!"

Before dishing out and warming food she washes her hands at the kitchen sink. She is quiet for a few minutes then, when plates are prepared, she slides his across the countertop and takes her own seat opposite him. She pops back up almost immediately and pours them each a cup of hot black coffee before finally settling down to eat. She lets him get a few bites down before the chatter starts up again.

"If your plane landed at 07:30, then what have you been doing with yourself for the last four hours?"

"First, I found myself a hotel room and freshened up a bit; I even took a half hour nap. Then, I went to the Wall to visit with Dad for a while… Then on to the cemetery."

Harriett has to strain to hear that last part as it's barely audible. "Ah," She thinks; the eyes make sense now.

The words are out of her mouth before she takes time to reconsider. "I hate going to the cemetery to visit with Sarah. I know it comforts Bud to go there and be with her, and that's fine but it just makes me… itch… to run away. She's not there! That place is just too still for my little girl. Even A.J. senses it, even though he was really too little to remember her, he did come before her so; I guess that counts for something. The stillness doesn't seem to bother Jimmy or the twins, they run about just like they always do, but then they have no memory of her at all. They only know what we tell them. But… My Sarah… She was a mover. They say the average baby moves for the first time somewhere between 16 and 20 weeks after conception. Harm, I swear I felt her move at 14 weeks. After that, she didn't stop. If I stopped moving, she kicked me; hard! I spent the last two months of my pregnancy sleeping in a rocking chair because the only way I could get any sleep was if I rocked at the same time. That cemetery is just too still for my girl. She's not there! Going there to be with her is no comfort at all."

Harriett stops suddenly. She drops her fork onto her plate and covers her mouth with her hands while Harm watches her; mildly perplexed by the sudden change in behavior. "God, Harm. I'm sorry. I have no idea what possessed me."

Putting down his own fork, he shakes his head and reaches for one of her hands; rubbing the knuckles with the pad of his thumb when she offers it. "It's okay Harriett. That actually makes some sense to me. All morning I been trying to figure out why I can go to the Wall and sit and be with Dad, and it's fine. There's a bench out there, and if I sit still and be really quiet… Well, it's almost like he'll walk up and sit down beside me. It doesn't work with Mattie though. I go to the cemetery, and it's like you said. All I want to do is leave… And then I feel guilty and ashamed of myself for wanting to leave her, but it's just too damn quiet there. Mattie would walk into a room and complain 'God, you can hear yourself think in here.' Then she would hit the volume on the stereo and turn on some so-called music loud enough to make my ears bleed. She could be still if she wanted to, but she wasn't often quiet; even when something was bothering her. Then she'd talk about everything, anything except for the one thing that was bothering her. In that way, she reminded me of Mac… Similar roads traveled I guess." He shrugs. "My life has just become so damn quiet. I never really understood why she didn't like to be able to hear her own thoughts… At least not before… I don't like most of my thoughts these days."

Harriett nods. "Spending time with Mattie will get better if you find a different way to be with her; one that doesn't make you edgy. I can go to the cemetery with Bud now; just to be supportive. But that's not how I spend time with Sarah. I still have that rocking chair. I visit it when I need to. You just have to find something that you both liked doing together. If you look for Mattie there… In those places…You'll find her. And Harm…" She gets up to refill his coffee cup even though it doesn't need to be refilled. She doesn't speak again until her back is turned; unable to look at him when she says, "It will never be okay that she's gone. Ever; but it will get better if you stop trying to pretend that everything is okay. You are supposed to miss her. And there's nothing you can do about it."

On the verge of tears, he laughs, causing Harriet to finally turn and look at him again. "You'll probably think this is nuts, but I swear, I've heard Mattie tell me that herself, inside my own head."

She returns his coffee cup to a place beside his plate and sits down again. She wants to take his hand again but fears a touch would be his undoing. She can see the control he's fighting hard to keep and, she lets him have it. Instead, she picks up her own coffee cup and continues to talk over the rim. "I don't think that it's nuts at all. Listen to her. She was a smart girl Harm. Find the right way to be with her and then let yourself miss her…and don't ever apologize for it." Harriett adds the last part emphatically and pauses before she continues. "And if you really want to know what thoughts she couldn't stand to hear herself think… Well, I suspect that I'm not the woman you should be talking to."

"I know." He says in response to her a pointed stare. "That's why I'm here. That's what I need your help with. I know she's been in touch with you. She wouldn't neglect our godchildren. Harriet, I need a way to get in touch with her."

"Boy, I knew you two had a go at it. I didn't know it was so bad that you've completely lost contact."

"Have you talked to her; recently?"

Harriet nods. "She called last week."

For a long moment, he stares silently at his plate so he won't have to look at her. "What has she told you?"

"Absolutely nothing; she won't talk about it." Harriet answers gently.

"Really? After two years; nothing? Oh god, that's bad!"

Harriett shakes her head, "I know she has a tendency to withdraw when she's hurting. You're right about that. But I don't think that's it, Harm; not after two years. In fact, I think it's probably really good."

"I don't follow you; good how?" He asks, obviously confused

"Yes, obviously she's hurting, but I don't sense anger anymore when she talks… Or actually when she doesn't talk about it. I think the anger is gone now. What I do sense is sadness, and guilt."

It's Harm's turn to shake his head now. "Guilt doesn't make sense. It was me. I did this. I really screwed up Harriett… Bad."

"Okay, so you screwed up. Go fix it. And whether you think she should feel it or not, I do believe she feels guilt. Maybe she thinks she screwed up too. Maybe that's why she's kept silent about it for so long. I also think that whatever it is that you two did - or didn't do - she's still protecting your privacy Harm. She hasn't ratted you out, and she's not going to. That's gotta fall in the plus column; don't you think?"

"I don't know Harriett." He shrugs.

"So, go ask her." Harriet picks up his plate and puts it in the sink without needing to ask if he's done.

"I've already got a plane ticket to San Diego. My flight leaves tomorrow at 08:00, all I need is an address."

"That's the part I don't understand, Harm. Her office address and telephone number are a matter of military record."

"I don't want to show up at her office. This isn't about work, this is personal. And I didn't want to use my status as the FJA for Europe to wrangle personal information out of some clerk in the records department. Yeah, I could have just called you, but I wanted to visit the Wall, and Mattie, and you, Bud, and the kids."

Starting to clear away other dishes, she offers him a gentle smile before she announces, "I'm kicking you out now Captain. I have things to do today. Come back at 1900. I'll feed you supper and you can visit with Bud and the kids."

He gets up, heading for the kitchen archway. When she calls his name, he turns to see that she has moved across the room to stand before the counter near the kitchen phone. She is rummaging through an open drawer. As he waits, she takes out what looks like a small personal phone book, a notepad, and an ink pen. She jots down some information, tears the page from the pad, and then wraps the page around some small object she removes from the phone book. Harriett returns to his side, walks him back to the front door, opens it for him, and then she hugs him fiercely before tucking the small square of paper safely into the palm of the hand that she upturns herself.

He stands there with her in the open doorway and unfolds the paper. Reading the information written there; he commits it instantly to memory and then turns his attention to the unexpected item. It is a wallet-sized photograph of Mac. She is out of uniform and her hair has gotten long, longer than he has ever seen it. She is holding a small girl in her arms. The child has the same wide, deep, dark eyes as the woman smiling back at her. Both sets of eyes hold such evident adulation that it brings a lump to his throat. Although they had to have been aware of the camera, they ignored it completely; lost only in each other.

He squints at Harriett. "Who's the kid?"

Harriett chuckles softly, "Ask her yourself, sailor. You'll get no more information from me."

He kisses her cheek; whispers, "Thank you." and then he’s gone.


	7. The Storm before Breakfast

* * *

**Sunday, August 19, 2007**

**08:20 HRS**

**San Diego**

Sarah Mackenzie runs her hand over the fitted sheet where Laura had lay sleeping beside her. It is cool to the touch, no longer holding any hint of the little girl's body warmth. “She's been up for at least a half hour.” Mac thinks quietly.

Opening her eyes, she rolls onto her back and listens for any sounds that will tell her what the girl is up to. While she is listening, the last tendrils of sleep evaporate from her mind and she becomes consciously aware of the ticking of her internal clock. She is somewhat shocked to find that it is after 0800. She can't recall the last time she slept passed 0600; usually she is up well before then. She closes her eyes again and listens more closely. She does hear the faint sound of the volume set low on the living room television. The silly sounds that emanate from it are indicative of Sunday morning cartoons. She smiles, not yet quite ready to venture out from beneath the blankets, but she hears another sound. It is a familiar sound that she cannot quite place, and it is much closer than the living room. She concentrates, and just when she recognizes it as the sound of Laura's walker moving across the floor, she feels a small hand gently touch her shoulder and then the mattress shifts slightly as the girl climbs up beside her,

"I know you're awake. You're smiling." Laura whispers.

"Yes, I'm awake." Mac confirms, opening her eyes and returning to her left side once more. She reaches out from beneath the blankets and runs her fingers through Laura's messy morning hair. "How long have you been up?"

Laura shrugs, "I watched almost three cartoons. How long does that take?"

"Let me see. Three cartoons at 30 minutes apiece take an hour and ½. That's a long time. Why didn't you wake me?”

The girl shrugs again. "You were busy."

Mac chuckles. "I was busy; was I?"

"Yeah, you were dreamin'. You woke me up. You were talking to somebody… a lot." Laura nods for emphasis.

Mac does remember having a dream, but not the details. She recalls only the feeling of exasperation. "Who was I talking to, and what did I say?" She asks; not sure she really wants to know the answer.

Laura thinks hard; squinting. "I don't really know, Aunt Mac. You said something about getting up on the wrong side of the plane… And the wings came off." Laura shakes her head, confused." And, oh yeah, I don't know who you were talking to, but you did call him Flyboy."

Mac starts laughing, as Laura wrinkles her brow and asks, "Does that help?"

"Yeah; that does help."

"Was it a nightmare?"

"No."

"Are you sure Aunt Mac, because…" She pauses to nod for emphasis again. "If the wings came off an airplane… Well, that sure sounds like a nightmare to me."

Mac taps a fingertip against the end of her nose. "Laura something wonderful happened every single time I flew with Harm."

"He flies?"

"Oh boy, does he ever!"

Up until now the small girl has been sitting on her knees on the edge of the bed. Becoming intrigued, she tugs at bed linens caught beneath her knees until, with a little help from her aunt; she is snuggled beneath them again and wrapped in a warm embrace. "Tell me." she insists with excitement, "What wonderful thing happened?"

Mac widens her eyes and smiles at the girl's eager face. "I survived!"

"Aunt Mac! Be serious!"

"Oh, but I am! Wings came off planes, parachutes got caught in trees, bullets flew, and things blew up… at one point I couldn't see, and he couldn't talk… And somehow, we survived it all!

"You're making this up!" Laura laughs incredulously.

"I promise; I'm not." Mac chuckles; crossing her heart with a finger.

Laura's laughter dies as mirth becomes fear. Instantly, the worry on her little face makes Mac mentally kick herself. What the hell was she thinking?

"Hey sweetie, I'm okay. I'm perfectly fine. Marines can take care of themselves, and if I ever did get into trouble. He was there. He never let anything bad happen to me. I never let anything bad happen to him. We took care of each other."

"Then how come you left him after his daughter died?"

Mac pushes the sting of her question aside. She isn't accusing; she's only asking, and Mac knows that. "I shouldn't have Laura. I was wrong to do it. He said things that hurt me. He was trying to push me away because he was in pain, and I let him do it. I should have stayed. No matter what horrible thing he said… I should have stayed. I should have followed him to London, if necessary."

Suddenly, there are tears in Laura's eyes. "But Aunt Mac, that's when you came here. That's why we met!"

"Damn it!" She curses herself silently and hugs the little girl hard. "I'm sorry, baby! I guess 'should have' never does anybody any good. I'm not sorry I came here, and I will never ever be sorry I met you; never ever. You understand?"

Laura wraps herself around Mac. Clinging to her, the child sobs. "I don't wanna go home."

Knowing it would come up sooner or later; Mac is hardly surprised by the sudden change in subject. As she rubs Laura's back, she answers, "Yeah, I know you don't baby. We need to talk about that."

In the blink of an eye, her little body goes rigid. The tears stop and her face becomes an angry storm cloud. "I don't wanna talk about it." Then she yells, "I don't wanna talk to you!" She tries to leave the bed and Mac holds tight. "Let me go!" She screams. "You let me go! You don't want me here! If you wanna go to London; then GO! I don't care! I hate you!" She pummels Mac's shoulders and chest with her small and angry fists.

Mac tightens her hold; afraid the child will hurt herself. Her dog, Candy, comes running into the room from some unknown part of the house, and jumps onto the bed with them. The big dog watches them struggle from the foot of the bed, whimpering with uncertainty.

Still, the marine holds on, letting the child rale against her. At first, she tries to talk to Laura; to sooth her with reassuring words, but it's no use. The girl can't hear her over her own noise, so Mac simply holds on and waits for her to exhaust herself.

Several minutes later, when the storm passes, they are both emotionally and physically wrung out. Mac is more than a little bruised. She waits until Laura is not only quiet but still, and then with her cheek against the girl's She whispers, "I do want you here. I want you more than you will ever know, and I never said I was sending you home. I only said that we need to talk about some things. If I ever do go to London, I hope you'll go with me."

Laura eases back a bit so she can look at her aunt. She wipes at her watery eyes and her runny nose with the back of her hands.

"Don't do that baby. Here" Mac finds the corner of the bed's top sheet and dries her tears before holding the linen gently against her nose and wiping snot away too. "Better?"

Laura nods "Mom will never let me go to London." She pouts miserably.

"Well, I'm afraid your mom may not get much of a vote anymore, kiddo."

"Huh, what do you mean? Why doesn't Mom get a vote?"

"Do you remember the policeman we talked to last night?"

Laura nods. "Officer Raymond."

"That's right. Last night when you were in the bathtub… Officer Raymond's partner came to visit." Mac starts slowly, uncertain exactly how much to tell her.

Laura senses trouble. "What happened? Did Mom do something bad?"

Mac finds it very telling that Laura didn't ask, "Did Derek do something bad?" She nods; trying to figure out what to say next.

"Oh great!" Laura moans. "Did she hit the policeman again? Last time she did that,… You weren't here yet… I had to go with the child welfare people. They said Mimi couldn't take care of me. Mom had to go to jail for a whole month. I had to stay with these people. They were okay. They weren't mean to me or nothing, but they ignored me. I hated it."

"Well, I'm afraid your mom is in a lot more trouble this time, baby. Officer Raymond tried to arrest Derek for assault… And your mom… Well, she hurt him."

Laura squeezes her eyes shut. "Is he dead?" She whispers.

Mac rubs her back. "No, but he is in a hospital. He is hurt, but he's going to be okay, and Laura, you're going to be okay, too. You don't have to go back to the place you stayed before. I'm here now. You're going to stay with me… If that's alright with you."

Laura opens her eyes. "You mean it? Really? You want me to stay with you?" Mac can barely hear her hushed words.

She laughs quietly. "Yeah baby. I mean it. I want you to stay with me. We'll have to do some stuff though, and I don't want you to be scared okay?"

"Like what kinda stuff?" She asks, suddenly very curious.

"Stuff like going to court. I have to talk to a judge. A judge has to say that it's okay for you to live with me, and they might want to talk to you too, but if they do, I don't want you to be scared. I talk to judges all the time and it's not so scary."

"Will you be with me… If I have to, I mean?"

"You bet I will."

"Okay then. I can do it." She is quiet; thoughtful for a long moment. "Aunt Mac, will you take me to the hospital. I want to see Officer Raymond."

"Why sweetie?"

"I want to say I'm sorry for what Mom did."

"Laura, it's not your job to apologize for your mother. You never have to do that; ever."

"Okay, but I still want to go."

Mac nods. "Then I'll take you."

They lie quietly for several more moments, until Laura finally says, "Aunt Mac, can we please get out of bed now. I'm starving to death!"

Mac laughs and throws back the blankets. She gets out of bed and slips on a pair of black leggings under her over-sized night shirt.

As she heads for the kitchen, Laura follows her, calling out, "I want pancakes, sausage, hash browns, eggs - but not on the same plate with my pancakes. I hate syrup in my eggs, - and strawberries too." Mac laughs harder.

Aunt Mac! I'm serious! Aunt Mac… Are you listening to me…."

The last one to hop out of bed and go running is the dog.


	8. Their Recurring Dream

* * *

**Sunday, August 19, 2007 - Monday, August 20, 2007**

**From Washington, DC to San Diego, California**

After his talk with Harriett, Harm does feel better or at least somewhat relieved. The pressure around his heart is still there, but it is noticeably less severe. What he doesn't feel is particularly sociable, and after the meal she fed him the only thing he really wants to do is sleep. Once he is back in his rental car, he thinks for a moment about calling Sturgis and asking if they can get together before he needs to be back at the Roberts' residence tonight for dinner. Ultimately, he decides against calling the man because Sturgis never seems to fail to ask nosy questions Harm doesn't feel he has the right to ask and Harm just isn't in the right frame of mind to deal with it. So, with the decision made, he returns to his hotel room, calls down to the front desk and requests a wakeup call for 17:30 hours, strips to his boxers, and he actually sleeps restfully. That hasn't happened in a while; a long while.

At some point, the dream starts again; the recurring one that he has been having for over a year. He has it every time he sleeps deeply enough to dream.

He is with Mac, with her in the deepest sense of the word. He doesn't recognize the place they are in but it is always the same place. It is always the same room. Their bodies alive with passion, touching in all the right places, touching in every place; they are consumed by an insatiable hunger. Eyes, hands, and mouths are both always and never satisfied. They discover, tease, please, and delight in each other. It happens in the same room every time; in a room where time seems not to matter and outside this room, visible only through an enormous window, clear blue ocean waves roll, tumble, and pound against the shore.

He wakes suddenly, as he always does from the dream. He feels now as he always feels after the dream. Completely spent, and yet oddly energized all of the same time. He has other dreams of her; even other dreams of being with her, but none compare to this one. This one is positively visceral. It puzzles him greatly. Not that he could have such a dream, but that the dream started and then continued to repeat itself at a point in his life when she isn't even speaking to him. It is sweet torture. Sighing, and sheathed in a fine perspiration, he mutters to himself, "She's trying to kill me." Then he grins for no one's benefit but his own and gets out of bed. He showers and is half dressed for his dinner plans before his wake-up call ever comes.

In spite of his lonely state, he thoroughly enjoys his evening with the Roberts. Bud, Harriett, and the children are in rare form and high spirits.

The next morning, he is ready for the next phase of his journey. He wishes the airport were as ready as he is. His flight is delayed for more than six hours. When he boards the plane, he tries to console himself with the fact that, accounting for the time difference he won't arrive in San Diego until 1600 west coast time. This is actually better. She will be at work. He doesn't want to go to her office, and if his flight had left on time, he would've had to wait around all day for her to get home. This way, he guesses he might only have to wait around for an hour or two. Surely he can find something to do in San Diego for two hours. In flight he sleeps again, and in sleep, the dream returns again.

This time, he wakes slightly embarrassed. Embarrassed not for having the dream, but for having it in a place that affords so little privacy as a commercial aircraft. Thankfully the 60 something year old grandmother in the seat next to him gave no indication that he'd done, or said, anything in his sleep worthy of humiliation.

When the flight ends, he disembarks entertaining himself with thoughts of what she might say if she ever discovers he's had such a recurring dream. He has no way of knowing that she has been having the exact same dream, and it returns for her as often as it does for him. The one difference is that she knows exactly where their recurring lover's tryst takes place.

Mac spends all day Sunday and much of the day Monday dealing with the mess that her troublesome sister and equally abusive boyfriend had created on Saturday. Not wanting to take Laura along with her or leave the girl in the care of Deanne O'Hara, she asks Laura for Liam's phone number.

She calls and sets up a time to meet with the boy's mother. After a lengthy conversation about Laura's situation, when she is certain that she is comfortable leaving Laura in the woman's care, she asks if Laura might spend the night with them.

Mac knows that she will have to go to the police station. She knows her sister is going to need a lawyer and assistance in getting one; both financially and otherwise. Worst of all, she knows that if Laura is going to stay with her, she's going to have to return to her sister's trailer to obtain some of Laura's clothing and other personal items. Laura does spend a fair amount of time at her place and as such, she does have some things there, but not nearly enough for her niece to stay on a permanent basis.

Officer Raymond's partner had warned her on Saturday night that the kitchen and living room of the trailer looked as if a bomb had been detonated there. She had assured him that she is familiar with what a home can look like after a drunken domestic brawl, but still she knows facing it will wreak havoc on her memories. She knows she's going to need some time to herself afterward.

She isn't wrong. After returning home from the trailer on Sunday, she is edgy, restless, and angry. She stays that way for much of the night. She needs sleep, in order to prepare for work Monday and for a visit with children's services, but she fears sleeping. She fears the old nightmares will resurface.

When she finally does surrender herself to sleep, it isn't the old nightmares that return. It is the dream of him; the one with him. Perhaps it is a fervent escape, her mind's way of protecting itself or her subconscious attempt to draw strength and comfort from Harm even in their absence from one another.

Monday morning, she wakes from the dream as she always does, dazed, lonely, and aching for him. The one difference is that this time she feels ready to make a change. She feels the distance between them narrowing, though she is unaware of exactly how true that is. Alone in the pre-dawn darkness, she smiles and whispers, "Just let me get Laura through the next few days Flyboy, and I'll get on a plane. I promise."


	9. Incoming!

* * *

**San Diego, California 16:20 HRS**

On his way to the car rental counter inside the airport Harm passes several shops, two bars, and various kiosks selling anything from beachwear to bourbon, postcards to roses. He ignores it all until he is stuck waiting behind a couple who is arguing over whether to rent a sports car, or an SUV. Able to discern that the woman is going to win the argument eventually, he tunes them out and decides to survey his surroundings while he waits.

He supposes it would be nice not to show up empty handed. What should he take along? Flowers? He tries to recall the last time he bought flowers for a woman. Renee. The - You called me Mac- debacle. Flowers don't really say I'm sorry, he decides. They scream, I've got a guilty conscience, and he does have, but that isn't the message he wants to convey - that he is only apologizing so she'll take pity on him. No, that isn't what he wants.

All too clearly, he can still recall the night at the hospital when she had wanted to comfort him after that damn plane crash. He had said just one word, "Don't" and she gave him what he wanted. She left him alone; reminding him that she would be there if he called. He hadn't called and later, when Mattie slipped away, he was alone with her and he was absolutely furious about that. Mac tried to reach out to him, all his friends did. He hadn't accepted their offers of support or condolence graciously but he hadn't taken his anger out on any of them either; only her. In the weeks following Mattie's death, every time he looked in the mirror he thought he looked numb; even dazed. He felt the anger that no one saw; roiling just underneath the surface, writhing, waiting to erupt. He would keep it in check. He would stay in control, and he did, until that night.

They had just received word of the possibility of their own commands. The morning the offers were first made, her eyes met his across the table and before the General was even through speaking, she was already shaking her head. She was telling him she wouldn't go. She wouldn't leave; not then. Not when he needed her. It pissed him off! He wouldn't let her pass this up. He wouldn't let her screw up her chance. Why should she? Because she felt sorry for him? The hell with that! She was going! He would make her go!

Later, he had opened his front door to find her standing there like countless other times. He let her come in. She wanted him to talk to her. He didn't feel like talking. He felt like punching a wall. He felt like making something bleed. He held it in until he couldn't. He held it in until she had the nerve to try and tell him that she understood.

"You understand? You understand? Damn it, Mac! You don't understand anything; not one damn thing!" He yelled. "She wasn't yours! She was mine! She was mine and she's gone! How can you expect me to believe that you understand? "He screamed, "You don't even have a child… and odds are you never will! So, don't you dare stand there and tell me that you understand! Damn it, your own body is betting against you!"

She'd stood perfectly still. She let him vent up until the word 'never.' Then she went pale and His brain screamed for him to stop, but he had recklessly plowed on until her eyes went hollow.

When he was finally silent, she walked back to the door and she said it so quietly that he almost didn't hear her. "My own body may be betting against me, but I never thought I'd see the day when you did, Harm."

Those were her last words to him. That was the last time he saw her.

No, flowers weren't going to work. With unshed tears in his eyes, He takes the photo Harriet gave him out of his shirt pocket and stares at it, searching for answers.

* * *

**17:20 HRS**

Mac sits, drumming the fingernails of her right hand on her desktop. Lost in her thoughts, she is unaware the Petty Officer Jennifer Coates is just poking her head inside the office door. "Damn it!" the marine sighs in frustration as Coates taps lightly against the door frame. Mac glances up startled as the other woman asks softly, "Problem Ma'am?"

Mac looks through a window into her empty bullpen. "Are you the last one here? Go home Jen." She says, dropping formality and rank since it's after hours.

"I'm on my way out. I just wanted to say so. I'll go… Unless you need me to stay." She adds kindly.

"I'm fine Jen. It's just… Have you ever taken two years to make up your mind to do something, and then as soon as you do make up your mind, circumstances start conspiring against you?"

Uncertain how to answer the younger woman smiles at her commanding officer and friend awkwardly. "Maybe it's fate." She takes a stab in the dark.

"I refuse to believe that Jen."

"Okay, maybe if you tell me what you're talking about… Not to pry, but does this have anything to do with your sister and your niece?"

Mac laughs wryly, "Yes Jen; it does. But in this case my sister would be the circumstance conspiring against me."

"Uh oh, I take it her arraignment didn't go well this afternoon?"

"Oh no. The arraignment went exactly like I expected it to."

"Then what's the problem?"

"She's making a stink about me taking Laura. She thinks Mom should."

"I thought Child Services said your mom was… Unsuitable." She instantly cringes, fearing she hadn't achieved the delicacy she wanted.

Mac waves away her nervousness. "They did. That was 2 1/2 years ago though. Mom was living in a rundown one room apartment at the time. Her trailer is nothing fancy; but it does have two separate bedrooms."

"Just because she's got the necessary accommodations, Ma'am, doesn't mean they'll pass you over."

"Oh, I know, but it puts me in a sticky position. If I have to tell the court that I don't think Laura should be with my mother, then they're going to ask why, and I will have no choice but to tell them."

Jennifer nods. "At the risk of damaging the already tenuous relationship you have with your mother."

"Which I have no problem doing, for Laura's sake. Still, I'm not thrilled about it. She's no mother of the year; not by a long shot. But I don't want to hurt her. Well, at least not most of the time. Plus, she's the only grandmother Laura knows. The poor sweet girl is about to have her world turned upside down no matter what happens… and it just pisses me off." Mac adds as a dark note creeps into her voice. "Not to mention, I just made an important decision that I'm going to have to put off acting on until this custody thing is resolved. I can't take leave now."

"Leave ma'am?"

"Just for a short while; there's someone I need to see."

"Well, I'm not sure what you're talking about ma'am, but if Mohammed can't go to the mountain, then maybe the mountain can come to… her." Jen tries with a smile.

"No." Mac answers automatically, and then slowly tilts her head, reconsidering. "Maybe…" She says with hope. She does the math in her head, calculating the time difference. "Jen, would you mind doing me just one favor before you leave?"

"Just name it ma'am."

"Get me the office number for the FJA in London."

"Yes ma'am." She's up and out the door before the full meaning of the request sinks in. Putting one hand around the door frame, she leans back, glancing in again. "ma'am?"

"Yes, you heard me right."

"Aye aye, Colonel."

Mac leans back in her chair to wait. After 3 minutes, she stands, unable to sit still any longer. She paces; on the verge of rescinding the request. She wonders what the hell is taking so long. All she asked for was a phone number. She turns her back to the door and stares out the window behind her desk; not really seeing anything there is to see outside.

Finally, she hears Coates approach again. Turning, she is surprised by Jen's wide-eyed expression.

Her concern is immediate. "Is something wrong?"

"I know you only asked for the number, but I thought I'd be nice and connect the call for you… He's not there, ma'am."

"Jen, what do you mean, he's not there?"

"I talked to a Commander, Robert Gantry. He's currently the acting FJA. The captain is on personal leave for an entire week."

"Oh good Lord! Don't scare me like that Jen. That by itself doesn't necessarily mean that anything bad has happened."

"No ma'am. Sorry ma'am. You don't understand. I asked Commander Gantry if he knew the captain's itinerary. "He was in Washington, DC yesterday. He was scheduled to arrive here by 13:00 today, ma'am."

"Here? He's here? Here where? In San Diego… On personal leave? Where's he's staying?"

"I don't know Ma'am. Commander Gantry couldn't say. Apparently, Captain Rabb hasn't called to check in."

"Where could he be?" Mac wonders aloud; not sure if she wants to laugh, cry, or throw up. Suddenly her stomach is in knots. Her head spins with one silent question. Why did he come? It is possible, logic argues, that his arrival here has absolutely nothing to do with her.

Jennifer Coates smiles. "Well now. I'm no expert at tracking down missing, or, in this case, perhaps the better word would be 'misplaced' people, but if I were looking for Harm in San Diego… The very first place I'd look Colonel, would be your house. If you don't find him there…" She smiles. "You could always try turning on that Flyboy Lo-Jac you seem to have."

Mac picks up her briefcase and cover. Smiling and rolling her eyes as she heads for the door; she orders, "Go home Petty Officer!"


	10. Laura

* * *

**Laura**

**San Diego, California**

**17:50 HRS**

Eager to be home, or actually eager to find Harm, Mac knocks anxiously on Elizabeth Harrell's front door. When Liam's mom opens the door wiping her hands on a dish towel Mac smiles. "Hi Beth, I've come for Laura. Is she ready to go?"

"Hello Sarah. I think so. I've already gathered up her things. She and Liam are playing in the den, but dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes. Why don't you stay?"

Not wishing to be rude, Mac apologizes. "No, I'm sorry, we can't. I've just received word a short while ago that a friend is in town and I need to locate him."

"Okay, maybe next time, but can you spare just a few minutes? There's something I want to talk to you about."

Mac shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

Sensing her hesitation, the other woman clarifies. "Please; it's about Laura."

A frown creases Mac's brow. "What's wrong?" She immediately steps over the threshold into the house.

Elizabeth Harrell pats her shoulder as she closes the front door. "Maybe nothing, but I'm not absolutely sure. Laura took a nap today. She and Liam have been playmates since they were two. So, I feel like I know her pretty well. She didn't just take a nap, she asked to take one. That never happens unless she's overly tired because her leg is bothering her. In spite of it, she's such an energetic little thing. I asked her about it, and she said her leg gets tired easily since her mom made her stop therapy."

"What?" Mac is at a loss. "Casey made her stop her physical therapy?"

"You didn't know?"

"Casey doesn't exactly volunteer information… And Laura hasn't said anything about it. Did she tell you why?

"Apparently, Laura's therapist, Charlie Waters, told Cassandra that Laura is outgrowing her brace and that it is time to get her a new one. For whatever reason, Cassandra doesn't want to do that. I imagine it has something to do with money. I've never bought anything like Laura's leg brace, but something tells me it wasn't cheap. Laura says the brace is causing a pressure point on her hip. Apparently, it was Charlie and not her mother, who explained to her what pressure points are, and why they are bad. She even showed me some moleskin padding that Charlie himself put inside the brace to give her some temporary relief. As near as I can understand it, Laura's not really clear in her explanation, but Charlie told her mother that a new brace was needed on three or four different occasions, after Laura's regular therapy sessions. After the last time, Cassandra told Laura she was done with therapy.

Mac can literally feel her blood pressure climbing. "Damn her." She whispers.

"Laura's really unhappy about it too. I know she saw Charlie once every two weeks. It used to be once a week, but that's been a while ago now. Charlie would do stretching exercises with her to help keep what little muscle tone she can in the leg. I imagine keeping the leg limber helped her maintain some strength. He taught her how to deal with muscle cramps, and I know for a fact that Charlie is the one who taught her how to protect herself when she loses her balance and falls down. Aside from what he did as her therapist, it seems he cared about her and she definitely cares about him. I think she misses him tremendously."

"I imagine so." Mac says unhappily. "It sounds like he paid attention to her, and she's starved for it. I'll fix it! I can promise you that. Thank you, Beth, for telling me."

"I don't have Charlie's office phone number, but I do know he works in the building behind the hospital. Laura was able to tell me that much."

"Okay, if Laura's going to stay with me, then I'll need to talk to him anyway. I've never been really clear on exactly what caused the problems with Laura's leg the only thing Casey has ever said is that it was a birth defect."

The other woman's eyes go wide with shock for just a moment and then, as if deciding that she shouldn't be shocked, she shakes her head. "Well, technically I suppose that's true, Laura was born that way, but there's not a person in this trailer park who doesn't know why it happened. I know you know she drinks, but before Laura was born Casey was popping Oxy like it was candy. Laura was prematurely born with a positive tox screen; at least that's the rumor anyway. Sarah, Laura spent the first eight months of her life in foster care. Casey got clean, and they gave Laura back to her. I asked your mother about it one time. Laura's muscles never developed properly in the womb. Her leg got the worst of it. The brace helps, or it would, if it fit her properly. Therapy helps, but then somebody has to actually take her to therapy. The problem isn't entirely correctable, either with or without surgery, but your mother told me that Laura's pediatrician referred them to a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, who did tell them that Laura might benefit from surgery. Cassandra couldn't afford it, so they stopped talking about it.

"I'll get into it. Tomorrow I'll find Charlie and talk to her pediatrician."

"You okay? You look ready to chew nails."

"If my sister wasn't in jail… Well, they'd have to put me in jail; because I'd kill her."

"One more thing… I made Laura take her brace off for the day. She's not very happy about it, because she moves better with it on. I checked, she doesn't have an open sore on her hip, but she does have a tender spot. I recommend limited use of the brace until you can figure something out."

"Oh, she's getting a new one. One that fits. I don't know the first thing about buying leg braces, but I'm going to figure it out; and fast!" Mac proclaims.

"Well then, I think maybe Laura is finally in good hands."

"Thanks Beth. I hope so. Somehow, it seems I always manage to say something that upsets her."

"That's just because she's coming from a bad place, so upsetting her is a fairly easy thing to do. I give her six months with you. After six months, she'll be a new kid."

Mac sighs, "From your lips to God's ears. Now, where's my girl? I really do need to be on my way.

"Right this way. She's been in much better spirits sent she woke up from her nap."


	11. Together Again

* * *

**San Diego, California**

**18:05 HRS**

The entire way home Laura keeps up a steady stream of happy chatter. She's made up with Liam. They aren't mad at each other anymore… And he is still a dumb boy!

Mac wants to talk about the brace, and the missed therapy sessions but fears either conversation might upset her. She decides to put both conversations on hold and let both herself and Laura enjoy the girl's moment of cheerfulness. There are tough days ahead and they will both need to take respite where they can find it.

So, Mac lets her chatter on about beating Liam at Connect Four, but he won CandyLand. They had to stay inside since Laura couldn't wear her brace, but they played Twister, and Liam sucked at that game. He fell down every time he moved. Laura laughs happily.

Mac smiles and laughs along, nodding in all the right places. She even manages to ask a few questions, but her mind keeps returning to one thought. Harm.

"Aunt Mac." Laura kicks a small foot gently against the underside of the dashboard. "Aunt Mac, green means GO!" The child calls out from the passenger seat. "Aunt Mac, are you okay? Did you forget how to drive?" She asks with a giggle.

"Sorry baby. I guess I'm just a little distracted." She takes her foot off the brake and waves apologetically to the discontented driver behind her. Two more blocks until home… And then what? She really has no idea. She supposes she could call London and ask Commander Gantry if his superior has checked in yet. What if he hasn't; then what? Thinking in circles, Mac might drive herself half mad if the ride were any longer.

Laura is saying something about dinner. Mac smiles. The girl is always hungry! "I will fix you some dinner in a little while. I promise. I put pot roast in the crock pot before I left for work this morning."

"Pot roast? With carrots and those little potatoes?"

"Yes Laura." Mac chuckles at her excitement. "Gravy and green beans too."

"Yummy!"

She turns onto her street. "Girl, do you ever think about anything but your stomach?"

"Hey!" She exclaims seriously," My stomach is very important; you know. It's very important, because it's always hungry!"

Once in her driveway, Mac's mouth goes dry, her heart races, and her palms begin to sweat.

"Hey, who's car is that, Aunt Mac?" Came the next query from the passenger seat. Laura is leaning forward; straining against her seatbelt to get a look at the unfamiliar vehicle.

Mac shakes her head; unable to speak. She gets out of the Vette, leaves her briefcase, opens the passenger side door, and picks Laura up in her arms without a word. Candy, Laura's dog, climbs over the girl's car seat, bounds out the door and around the side of the house to the front walk.

Mac closes the car door with her hip and steps the short distance across the drive to peer through the window into the front passenger seat of the unfamiliar vehicle. What is she looking for? The answer is easy; anything she might recognize as his. Finding nothing familiar, she sprints for the front door.

The only living thing on the front porch is a panting black Lab. Who sits eagerly beside the front door and waits to be let in. Once inside, Mac kicks off her shoes immediately and uses one foot to push them out of the direct path of the door. No one is in the living room. She deposits the little girl in her arms on the living room sofa. As she steps into the kitchen around the island countertop that divides the living area from the other, smaller room, she removes her tie and her uniform jacket. She drapes them over a bar stool, hits the playback button on the answering machine and lifts the lid on the crock pot in rapid succession. The entire house, smells like pot roast and her empty stomach grumbles. She ignores it. She replaces the lid and reduces the temperature on the device as much as she possibly can without turning it off. There are two messages, one from her sister's lawyer, and one from her mother. She ignores them both. Knowing he isn't there, she returns to the living room again on her way to the master bedroom. She pokes her head in the doorway. This was the room where she almost never sleeps. Nope, no Harm there either. The bathroom door is open. Not there either.

The dog has taken to following her; no doubt sensing her agitation in spite of the fact that she keeps quiet. The dog isn't the only one who notices.

"Aunt Mac, I really don't know who you're looking for, but obviously they didn't leave a message on the machine. They aren't in the bedroom, or the crock pot. The front door was locked when we got here, so unless they have a key, I really don't think they're here!"

Mac rolls her eyes. "Of course, I know he's not in the crock pot! Silly girl!" She calls out, stepping through the kitchen once more, on her way to the other room. The room. No Harm.

She returns to the living room, picks Laura up, and goes back to the kitchen and out the back door. No one is visible on the beach from the back porch. She crosses it, and at the top step she looks left. No one. Turning to the right, she walks down the steps, trips over something, and nearly looses her footing. She flails, grabs for the railing, and pens Laura between herself and it, and somehow, she keeps from going down. She sits down on the steps and brushes hair out of Laura's eyes with her fingertips. "That was close! You okay kiddo?

"Yeah, I'm okay, but what happened?"

"I tripped on…" She looks down at the pair of shoes that are now lying in the sand at the bottom of the steps. "Those." she points. She moves Laura from her lap to the step beside her and goes down to pick up not only the shoes, but the pair of white socks beside them. White socks and brown shoes. A man's shoes. She lifts the tongue of one shoe and peers inside, size 13.

He's here. But where? She laughs excitedly, causing Laura to look at her strangely. She places the shoes neatly back on the bottom step, folds the socks in half and lays them across the top of the shoes. Standing once more, she mutters to herself, "Damn Flyboy! What? Are you trying to kill me?"

Laura continues to look up at her; utterly confused. "Aunt Mac, are you losing it?" The girl giggles at her own question.

Without answering, Mac turns to the right again, realizing that she never had a good look in that direction as she had intended.

"Okay" She thinks to herself, "So he got here, and no one was home. So… He walked around the outside of the house… looking for a way to kill time. There's the beach… The water… He sat down; took off his socks and shoes… and went for a walk; of course. So, he should be…”

“There!”

She spots him. Some 300 yards down the beach. His back to them. He is walking at the water's edge; the tide lapping gently at his bare feet, khaki cargo pants rolled up to his calves, white shirt loose and flapping gently in the mild breeze. He stands so straight and tall. Few men are that tall. She feels absolutely dizzy at the sight of him.

She sets off after him quickly. Then, on an afterthought, she reverses direction just as suddenly, bends at the waist, holds Laura's little face in her hands and kisses it repeatedly.

"Aunt Mac! What's the matter with you?" The girl laughs.

"I'll be back in a few minutes baby. I'm just going down the beach. You stay here, okay. Stay right here!" She says, rising to her full height again. She sets out again, calling over her shoulder, "Candy, you stay. Stay with Laura."

Laura and the dog sit side by side on the porch step watching her sprint down the beach. When Laura can't see her anymore, she whispers to her furry friend, "I think my aunt needs a vacation!"

Mac jogs after him for a few feet in the loose sand, and then heads to the water's edge where the sand is wet and packed firmly. There, she is able to gain traction and move faster. More than once, she starts to call out to him, but each time she does something holds her back. It sounds ridiculous, even in her own mind, but he's traveled this far. Somehow, she can't bring herself to make him turn and shorten the distance between them.

He stops, bends and picks something up from the sand. Mac watches him silently as he extends his arm behind his head and tosses the item into the ocean. She guesses it might be a seashell or maybe a starfish. He starts moving again, but the brief pause is enough.

When she gets closer, she slows to a quick walk; still having to take twice as many steps as he to compensate for his longer strides. She knows if she opens her mouth her voice will either crack or fail her completely. Closer still, she slows a bit more. Stepping to one side, she reaches out and gently lays her hand against the space between his shoulder blades.

He turns slowly, the question in his eyes quickly fading into recognition. She waits for the initial surprise to fade. When it does, he doesn't say anything. She doesn't either. They just stand there looking at each other.

God, were his eyes always this blue. Why doesn't he say anything? For the same reason she doesn't. Neither of them knows what to say. She gives it a few more long seconds and then she quits searching for words and simply wraps her arms around him. The solid feel of him instantly brings tears to her eyes.

Perplexed, for a second or two, Harm stands there stunned completely motionless as he stares down at the top of her head against his shoulder while she hugs him. He isn't sure what sort of greeting he expected; but this isn't it. No, he hadn't expected this warm embrace; no matter how much he wants it, he hadn't expected it. For another half second, he thinks he might be dreaming again. Is she real? Is he even breathing? One more half second, and he decides that he doesn't care if it is real, or even if he is breathing.

He wraps his arms around her and holds on tight. She doesn't make a sound, not one, but he feels her relax when his arms go around her. Before long he feels her warm tears soaking through the front of his shirt. He only holds her and cries with her.

She is still for a time and he turns his eyes toward the horizon, out over the water, and simply enjoys the feel of her in his arms, until he feels her lift her head from his shoulder, and then he seeks her eyes.

"Hi." She whispers; almost purring

He can't help but chuckle softly. That single word is more than she had said to him in two years, yet there is no malice. There is happiness, joy even, and maybe he's imagining it, but he could swear there is something mildly flirtatious in it.

"Hi." He whispers back.

She hugs him tighter and snuggles closer, before turning in his arms so that she too can face the ocean. They stand like this for a long moment, one of his arms around her shoulders, the other around her waist. She lays her arms on top of his and holds on while the water swirls around their ankles. They inhale the salty ocean air.

She smells sweet; like honey suckle. Not the fragrance he remembers, but he likes it.

He smells the way he always did; like the wind and something earthy; solid and sturdy. He smells like Harm.

She reaches up and lays a hand gently against his cheek and he enjoys the caress for a moment before turning his head to kiss the inside of her palm. Her head has found that spot on his shoulder again; the one where it fits just right.

His lips find the soft skin of her cheek just below her ear, and it is really more a nuzzle than a kiss, but it feels just fine. Then he goes still. She knows something has shifted but she can't quite name it until she hears him whisper, "I'm sorry."

He feels her sigh. "I'm sorry too."

He shakes his head. "You don't need to be."

She turns to face him once more. She wraps her arms around his waist and leans back at the same time so she can look up into his eyes. "Neither do you."

He squints, not understanding, on the verge of telling her that he will always be sorry, but she puts a tender finger to his lips and shakes her head.

"Okay," He thinks to himself, so he doesn't agree with her; but so what! He damn sure isn't about to argue with her. Not now… Besides, something else has caught his attention.

"Uh, Mac… What's going on with your hair?"

"My hair?" She chuckles nervously, touching the loose, unraveling knot at the nape of her neck

"Yeah. It's kind of a mess." He teases playfully. "Very un-Marine-like, and it's passed your collar too." He shakes his head in mock disapproval.

Pulling pins out of her hair with one hand, she uses the other hand to jab him in the ribs. "It's your fault, Squid! I tripped over your damn gunboats on the back-porch steps. I nearly fell on my face! Then I had to jog all the way down here to catch you. If I'd known this morning that I was gonna be doing wind sprints I would've used some extra hold hair spray and a lot more pins."

She pulls the last pin free and gives her head a little shake, sending hair cascading down her back and over his hands; the soft feel of it undoing the last tiny bit of reserve between them. He pulls her hard against him, brings her up on tiptoe and kisses her.

It is soft, tender, and sweet at first, but when they both seek more, warm embers quickly become flames that dance through their bodies igniting other desires that have been ignored for far too long. Long moments later, although she's aching for more, just before their hands begin to wander, Mac gently breaks the kiss and lowers her head; trying to catch her breath.

"Hey." He whispers; misunderstanding and placing a gentle finger under her chin. He lifts her face tenderly and searches her eyes as he loosens his grip around her waist; giving her the option to step away if she wants.

She doesn't move away. It is desire, and not doubt, that he sees in those deep eyes looking back at him.

"I need to stop for now." She whispers to him, breathlessly. "But later, okay…" She inhales; waiting for his answer.

"Later?" He asks, making sure he understands.

"Yeah, later, Flyboy." She smiles at him and nudges his thigh with the curve of her hip.

He flashes her that old familiar grin. "Okay, later." He agrees quietly. "But what do you want to do now?

She offers him her hand, and when he takes hold she says, "Come with me, there's someone I want you to meet."


	12. Laura Meets Flyboy

* * *

**Monday, August 20, 2007**

**San Diego, California**

**18:40 HRS**

Harm and Mac walk back to her porch, hand in hand. Even before they are close enough to see her, Laura can be heard giggling. "No, stop that! You, dumb dog. Candy stop! He's gonna bite your nose." She warns, still giggling.

Harm looks at Mac with a raised eyebrow. Mac shrugs and walks a little faster. Once the house is in sight, they see her standing in the sand beside her dog, half leaning on the dog for support, half tugging on the dog's nylon harness, trying to get her to move.

Candy pays the little girl no mind as she digs furiously with her nose half buried; sand flying out from beneath her paws. Before the adults can reach them, the whole the dog is digging nearly doubles in size.

"Candy, leave it!" Laura tries again, unable to put much authority in the command because she can't stop giggling. "Candy, off!"

The disobedient dog continues to dig, so Laura tugs harder on the harness around the dog's body. For all her effort, the only thing she succeeds in doing is knocking herself off balance. She topples face down in the sand still laughing; "Okay, dumb dog, if you get your nose bit it's not my fault!"

Letting go of Mac's hand, Harm rushes forward to help.

Mac claps her hands together once very loudly to get the lab's attention. In a voice filled with command presence the marine orders. "Candy; rest!"

The dog stops digging at once, raises her head to look at Mac's stern face, then walks half a dozen steps away from the hole and lays down flat on her belly in the sand.

Going down on one knee in front of the girl, Harm asks, "Are you okay, sweetheart?" earning himself a happy smile as she pushes herself up onto her knees.

"Yeah, um… I mean, yes sir. My dog saw a crab and she tried to get him, but the crab ran away under the sand..." She falls silent for a moment and tilts her head, staring at him with a slightly puzzled expression. "I've seen you before, but I can't remember where."

"Maybe in the pictures in my photo albums." Mac supplies the answer with a smile of her own as she comes to stand beside Harm, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Laura nods, but she's still a little confused.

"Laura, this is Captain, Harmon Rabb, Jr."

The little girl accepts this new piece of information and mulls it over out loud. "Harmon Rabb…Harmon…Harm…"Hey, you're Flyboy!" She squeals happily.

Harm laughs. "Yes. That's me!"

"The one and only!" Mac says with a dry chuckle.

Now comfortable with his presence, the little girl holds out her small hand for him to shake. "I'm Laura O'Hara" She declares, with an air of extreme seriousness not typically found in anyone of her tender years.

Harm's big hand swallows her tiny one when he takes it, offering her another of his patented grins. "It's a pleasure to meet you Laura."

"I'm glad you're here. Aunt Mac's been missing you really bad.'

"I've been missing her too."

"She talks to you when she's asleep."

"Laura!" Mac protests; laughing.

"What?" Laura looks at her aunt, puzzled by her objection. "You do!"

Harm laughs at the exchange. "Oh, she does, does she?"

Laura nods emphatically.

"What does she say when she talks to me while she's asleep?"

"Scary sounding stuff about wings coming off of airplanes." Laura frowns.

"Uh oh, that's no good."

"Well, I didn't think so either, but Aunt Mac said it was okay. She said you didn't let anything bad happen to her."

"She took pretty good care of me too."

Laura fists her small hand in the fabric of his shirt and pulls herself into a standing position. She stumbles a bit; but he catches her, and then lifts her off the ground as he rises to his full height. "Okay" She instructs "But you can't get in anymore airplane crashes if she's with you 'cause she's the only person who takes care of me. She's the only Aunt Mac I've got!"

"So, what you're telling me is, she's irreplaceable?"

"Uh huh. That's right!"

"Well then, we better take good care of her." Harm declares, wrapping his free arm around Mac and pulling her close.

The two adults smile at each other, about to share a kiss, but Laura pushes them apart before their lips met. "Can we please go inside now? I'm starving to death!"

"Uh oh" Harm chuckles, "Sounds like you got your appetite from a certain marine I know. Let's get you some dinner."


	13. Later…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next portion of the story was actually written as an out-take or afterthought about a year after the close of this work. It was written in appreciation for loyal readers who thought it should be, and it's included here for your pleasure and convenience. Mature content follows.

* * *

**Monday, August 20, 2007-Tuesday August 21, 2007**

**Sometime after Dark**

Backing into the hall on silent feet, Sarah Mackenzie closes her niece's bedroom door as quietly as possible and tiptoes backwards three steps before turning to smile at the retired naval aviator turned lawyer who is leaning on his elbows and sipping coffee at the bar that separates her quaint cottage living room from its kitchen.

He flashes that smile; the one that use to make her warm all the way to her toes. "Damn." She thinks. "It still works! Thank God… It still works!"

"She finally go down?" Harm asks, interrupting her private musings.

Reining her slightly carnal thoughts in; Mac nods. "She fought hard, but she finally threw up the white flag. It's unusual though, Laura doesn't usually fight bedtime; especially not when she's overtired.” The marine smiles, and then adds in a softer voice." She likes you Harm."

"I like her too." He holds up a second coffee mug, indicating that it’s meant for her, and she approaches wondering if it could really be this easy; the two of them settling into an old familiar after-hours routine following such a long absence from one another’s lives.

Crossing the room and taking the cup, she sips coffee, using the moment to try to sort through her muddled thoughts. There are so many things they need to talk about; so many things they should talk about. But she's not sure if either one of them is ready for a heavy conversation. But as easy, and as welcome, as their old comfortable routine would be, the truth is, she wants more. She's always wanted more. Years ago, she got used to the crackle of smoldering desire that has always been present every time he is. But now, after their separation, it seems to have reached a new undeniable peak. Maybe she's out of practice, but she can't seem to ignore it. Not that she did before. She just simply chose to set it aside. Now she can't, or she doesn't want to. At the same time, he's here; now; in this room. That's more than either of them have been able to say for over two years. She's hesitant to make the first move, for fear that she will come on too strong, push too hard. She's familiar with what happens when she pushes him, of all men, too hard. She still deals with the pain she's experienced on such occasions. What to do? He's watching her; his blue eyes piercing her soul. He knows she's thinking, but probably not what she's thinking. He's waiting for her to say something. Still undecided, she opts to do something she doesn't usually do – let him call the shots.

She steps around the end of the bar between them into her kitchen and looks around; mildly puzzled by the empty sink, the sparkling clean counter tops and the newly swept tile. "What happened to the dirty dishes?"

He shrugs. "Not dirty anymore."

She raises an uncertain eyebrow. "You washed my dishes?"

He shrugs. "You were busy. I needed something to do. It's not a problem; is it?"

The surprised laughter she tries to hold in comes out sounding more like a discreet hiccup. She shakes her head adamantly. "No Harm, it's not a problem, not at all, just unexpected. For future reference though, feel free to wash my dishes anytime."

He smiles but his blue eyes narrow slightly; almost imperceptibly. Is he imagining things? Is it wishful thinking… Or is she flirting with him, just a little bit, maybe testing the waters? He's been asking himself the same question all evening. Sometimes he's certain of it, other moments he questions everything.

All through dinner while Laura chatted about Liam, about her dog, about her aunt, and a variety of other topics - it seems no topic is off limits to the six-year-old - Harm was aware of an almost indiscernible difference in Mac. He noticed, and took pleasure in, the fact that before they even sat down to dinner, she seemed to touch him in a new way, and she did so whenever the opportunity presented itself. It was never anything indiscreet, a hand coming to rest softly on his shoulder in passing, a gentle poke in the ribs while they laughed over something funny Laura that said. Tender sparks flew like fireflies floating on an evening breeze when their hands accidentally touched when she passed him the napkin holder. He wonders if maybe he's going a little soft in the head. It's not like she's never touched him before, either accidentally or on purpose. He can't say that they've never shared an intimate moment either. And yeah, when they were out there on the beach, she did say later, and he knew what she meant, but still; there was something different in her this evening.

At first, he wondered if maybe he was over-thinking it. After all, they'd just closed the door on a two-year absence from each other's lives. Some things were bound to be different. But before Laura had gone to bed, Mac had been… At peace. That's what was different. She was sure of herself and of him. Suddenly, now that her niece is asleep, the old Mac is back; edgy and unsettled. He wonders, was Laura's presence some kind of buffer between them?

Now, he watches her turn, looking this way and that in the small room. She's obviously searching for something.

"What? What are you looking for?" He asks, hoping to help ease the low-current hum of tension in the air.

"I don't know." She mutters absent-mindedly. She opens the refrigerator door, peers in, and then, after a second, closes it again; wondering why her kitchen suddenly feels twice as small and wishing his natural scent wasn't quite so desirable.

"You don't know what you're looking for?"

"No, I don't." She prowls the small space restlessly, her internal thermostat registering a slight increase in the room's temperature.

He watches her a moment longer and then something slides, mentally, into place; like the soft. nearly indiscernible, yet unmistakable, sound of a light switch being flipped into the on position. He smiles. He's seen her do this before more times than he can count, but he also realizes that he's just now recognizing it for what it truly is. It's a stalling tactic, a coping mechanism. She's attempting to self-sooth; looking for comfort. Until tonight, it's never occurred to him that this was her real purpose, or that his presence might be the very thing that had her so on edge. What's more, he can't decide if this makes him sad or really, really happy. How many times has he watched her do this while not fully comprehending the reason behind it?

Often enough, they'd spend their evenings together doing trial prep for one case or another, usually at his loft. They would order pizza, or he would cook, and then start cleaning up after they were done. She'd sit at the bar and talk to him about case details, diving into work right away, as soon as the meal was through. Then, usually about twenty minutes later, right about the time he was through cleaning up, she'd start prowling his kitchen, looking for something sweet. It was something he got used to quickly; something he just learned to accept. His original assumption was that she needed twenty minutes to begin to digest dinner so that she could make room for dessert. Now, for the first time, he realizes that chocolate is her band aid… Or in this case, maybe 'substitute' is a better word. He doesn't know whether to grin boldly or bang his head on the cabinet door above him. “Idiot!” He berates himself silently. Why the hell couldn't he have had this little epiphany years ago?

Setting down his coffee cup, he rises to his full height and looks around the room. He knows her well enough that he only has to open two cabinet doors before he finds what he's looking for. He reaches in and extracts the small tin of chocolate fudge with walnuts in it. She watches him curiously as he helps himself to another cabinet where he finds two saucers. He removes a knife from the silverware drawer, adds a couple of napkins to the collection, and picks up his coffee cup, motioning for her to follow.

She settles on the couch beside him and watches with the slightest of smiles as he serves up a small square of the treat. He watches her sample it, and though it's clear she enjoys it, the pleasure in her eyes is still somewhat flat.

"What's the matter?" He chuckles softly. "Not quite working for you?"

"It's fine." She sighs "I just remember it being better." She leans forward, shifting her position slightly, turning to face him as she sets the saucer on the coffee table. She smiles at him in surprise when he reaches out, taking her hand in his while she settles more comfortably on the cushion beside him.

"Maybe, it's the same as it's always been Mac. Maybe…" He raises an eyebrow. "It's just not what you want." He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it gently, noticing that for the briefest of moments there's a look of absolute panic in her dark eyes. However, his kiss seems to ease, if not completely sooth, her worries.

He smiles and turns his head, softly kissing her palm when she eases her hand from his and rests it delicately against his cheek. She offers him a sweet but sad smile, then her gaze slides away and she stares awkwardly at her own knees for a moment.

"Mac?" He queries; trying hard to keep even the faintest hint of disappointment out of his voice. "You change your mind?" He sits up a little straighter. "It's okay if you did…" She shakes her head frantically even before he finishes. "But I need you to say so."

"No Harm! I haven't changed my mind. It's just…" She laughs nervously, miserably. "I don't really know what to do it myself anymore. I've lost track of the number of times we've been here in this place. Well, I don't mean this place exactly. I mean…"

"I know what you mean Sarah." He whispers; the sound of her name on his lips causing a pleasant warmth to ripple through her body.

"It feels like we're closer this time; closer than ever before. Only, I don't want to push you. That's never worked before, and I doubt it will work now. I don't want to scare you away again." She admits, sounding as if she might cry. "But Harm, I don't think I can go back… Not to the way it was before. I can't do that dance anymore. There's no reason to. There's nothing between us…"

Realizing her mistake almost immediately when she sees panic rising in his eyes; she places a tender hand against his chest and shakes her head gently. "That's not what I mean, Harm." She smiles; trying to clarify her own words. "I mean, there aren't any obstacles between us. Well… Not unless you count the fact that our addresses are on two separate continents with an ocean between them. That's rather minor compared to some of the obstacles we've faced. The Navy, The Marine Corps, the UCMJ, boyfriends and girlfriends, your baggage and mine. Most of it doesn't matter anymore, and at this moment I don't really care about the parts that still might. I meant what I said earlier on the beach. I want you to be here… with me tonight." She bites her lip; terrified to go on. "If you still can't, if you want to go… I need you to go now because I can't…"

The odd shift in her mood was born of fear, and with understanding, comes the freedom and the confidence he needs to act. He leans in close and she breathes the rest of it against his mouth just before his lips claim hers. "Do it anymore..." She talks in stops and starts around his warm kisses. "Missed you too much."

Their bodies begin to tingle sweetly; the way skin does when it is caressed by a gentle wind on a warm day. She threads the fingers of one hand through his hair and moves with him as he eases her back against the sofa cushions, but she braces herself on an elbow stopping short of lying down. "Can't do that anymore. Too hard now…" She mumbles on incoherently; finally stopping short when she realizes that his sweet kisses have stopped and he is staring down at her; his gaze warmed by desire and fixed on her mouth expectantly, if also somewhat impatiently.

"Oh hi!" She says with soft enthusiasm; a wide smile finding its way to her lips as she clues in.

He chuckles quietly and flashes his smile as he repeats the same words back to her. "Oh hi! You done now?"

Still smiling, she squints and furrows her brow. "Think so. You're staying… Not leaving?" Her voice sounds just the slightest bit giddy to his ears.

Holding eye contact, he shakes his head slowly and then whispers as he kisses the delicate skin below her right ear, "Even if this house catches fire, you still might have to talk me into leaving."

Truly happy, she lifts her chin and turns her head slightly, giving him better access and she finally lies down completely. He moves with her, allowing her to shift position until he rests on his elbows, his body completely covering hers, and they're both considerably more comfortable.

Keeping one hand tangled lightly in his hair, her other hand begins to roam the solid expanse of his back as she begins a much desired, yet tender, exploration of his body; one that will take her hours to fully complete. For the moment though, she's content with this and allows his mouth to begin an exploration of its own, from her ear down the curve of her neck. Seconds later, when his progress is interrupted by the collar of her uniform blouse, they both grimace. When he lifts his head, she smiles apologetically and then frowns at her own attire.

"I usually change after work, but your car was in the driveway, I tripped over your shoes at the bottom of the back-porch steps, and Laura was hungry." She shrugs beneath him, the simple movement bringing both of them a quiet kind of pleasure. "If I had thought about it, I would've changed into something a little more flattering."

If his blue eyes weren't currently dark with unspoken intimate desires that no ten-year-old boy has ever experienced, Mac might have thought that he looked just like the child who finds the gift he wants most beneath the tree on Christmas morning.

He smiles at her and adamantly shakes his head. "Uh uh!" He objects heartily, trying to get his throat to form more adequate words. "Perfect!"

Surprised, she raises an eyebrow. "Really?" The simple word drips incredulity.

He nods, just as adamantly. "Pretty sure the Marine Corps didn't mean to create the sexiest ensemble on earth, but they did. You have no idea how long I have been fantasizing about taking this thing off of you."

She giggles happily. "Harm you just made generations of Marine Corps commandants roll over in their graves."

He shrugs, wholly unconcerned, and returns his lips to the throbbing pulse point in her neck. "Who cares." He breathes; the light teasing contact of his tongue against her flesh sending enjoyable ripples of longing through her body that he feels and responds to immediately; in a very noticeable, not to mention, tangible way. "They may be dead, but we're not."

She smiles seductively, her dark eyes alive with passion as her free hand continues to roam the contours of his back. It comes to rest just north of the waistband of his khakis; itching to slide farther south, but she holds off, choosing instead to bunch up the tail of his shirt and slide her hand beneath it into the small of his back. Being careful not to scratch him, she slowly and softly rakes her short manicured fingernails across skin that is hot beneath her touch, which only intensifies his response and leaves her struggling to move beneath him, seeking better contact with him while she concurs verbally, "You certainly aren't Flyboy."

Because he knows what she wants, his mouth stops its tender assault on the soft flesh over her pulse point as he lifts himself slightly higher on one elbow. He gives her his fevered eyes again as he reaches down; searching by feel alone for her hemline. Sliding beneath it, his hand finds and gently cups the back of a thigh, helping it into a more pleasing position. As the marine green skirt on the woman beneath him rises several indiscreet inches, Harm groans with equal parts satisfaction and frustration and she literally purrs when the part of him she wants most gets distinctly more firm and, at the same time, infinitely closer to where she wants it.

"Better?" he smiles wickedly as the inside of her thigh makes contact with his hip.

Her dark eyes go wide, and she nods mutely.

"Good. Now be still… Or else this isn't going to take nearly as long as I'd like for it to."

She nods her understanding with silent enthusiasm as she untangles the fingers gently fisted in his hair. She caresses his face lovingly. Then, he mutters a curse as she nearly undoes his tenuous grasp on self-control when she kisses him; offering enough passion to make his hips buck of their own accord.

"Long time." She whispers into the kiss; her thoughts, as well as her words, scattered by the pleasing effects of his involuntary movement. "This… not rush."

He understands where the unspoken words fit with the spoken ones just fine. "We've waited a long time for this. Let's not rush."

Pleased they're in agreement; he breaks the kiss only because he has to, and Mac knows it the instant she's no longer the lone recipient of his attention. Coming up on one elbow, tilting her head back, and lifting her chin, she follows his gaze across the room and down the short hallway to Laura's closed bedroom door.

"She's asleep Harm." Mac assures quietly while playfully nipping at his left ear; trying to reclaim all of his attention.

He groans louder than he likes, given their current location, and flashes his smile as he deliberately tries to move away from her mouth. "Yeah, I know, but I'd like her to stay that way Mac. I'd also really like to do away with all these annoying clothes… mime feel like they're on fire, and sexy as they are, I'm starting to seriously resent yours. You think we can move this someplace a little more private? Someplace a bit farther away from that door? If she wakes up and wanders out here, and we scar her for life, it's going to scar me for the rest of mine."

He fully expects her to poke fun at him, to tell him that he needs to relax, so he's more than a little surprised when she smiles sweetly, kisses his cheek and hugs him tightly, as if a rewarding him for good behavior, before she pokes the back of his shoulder playfully.

"You're right. I shudder to think what she's already walked in on, what's already scarred her, especially with my sister for a mother. There is a better place for this, but it means you'll have to get off of me."

He bows his head into the curve of her neck, the intoxicating scent of her seriously impeding his ability to summon the will to do as he knows he must. After a long moment's hesitation, he grunts in despair and shoves himself to his feet, pulling her up along with him. Turning too quickly, with his arms locked around her waist, he bangs his shin on the coffee table hard enough to nearly topple them, and more than hard enough to elicit another muffled curse between his clenched teeth.

Out of concern for his pain, she does her best to stifle the chuckle that rises in the back of her throat. "I think you'd better let me lead the way sailor. Honestly, Harm, I don't mind a little kink now and again, but bruises just aren't sexy."

Balanced momentarily on one foot he resists the urge to hop about and stares at her; unaware that his mouth has fallen slightly open until she reaches out and gently closes it with a finger crooked beneath his chin. Then, with her hands at his hips to guide him, she moves slowly, turning, trading places with him and walking backward around the edge of the coffee table without mishap. Because he's limping slightly, she waits until they're in the kitchen, passed the bar, with no other obstacles in their path, before she begins to unbutton his shirt. Lost in her deep dark eyes, it's an act he's not fully aware of until he feels her warm fingertips against his heated flesh. Mildly surprised, he glances down at his exposed, and suddenly very sensitive, chest as her caress ignites a new flame, and with it, new desires. He lifts one of the delicate hands splayed there to his lips for a gentle kiss and then returns it to the spot directly over his pounding heart.

Incapable of missing the steady two-part hammering going on beneath the skin at her fingertips, she moves her hand, curling her fingers around his rib cage and places a sweet kiss there over the wildly beating organ. As they pass the refrigerator, she breathes against his skin, "Want ice?"

When he doesn't answer right away, she pauses to look up at him until the hushed question registers, even though the reason behind it doesn't. "Huh…what for?"

This time, she does giggle. "For that very badly bruised shin you're going to have tomorrow."

"Oh… Naa." He grins. "I'll suffer. Cold is not sexy." He marvels at her. Walking backward, her steady gaze fixed on his mouth, meaning that her steps are guided purely by instinct, with her hair and clothes badly rumpled like - Well, like a teenager who's been making out on the living room sofa - skin glowing, lips swollen and kissable, with her dark eyes flashing messages of secret unspoken desires that she's about to reveal; she still has the presence of mind to walk upright without incident and she thinks clearly enough to offer him first-aid. As he nears her bedroom door; guided only by her, and no real sense of direction, he decides he wants…no he needs, to change this. He needs to kiss her, touch her, do whatever it takes, until she is every bit as lost in, and dim-witted, by pleasure as he is right now.

He starts by offering her a searing kiss; one that eventually leaves her breathless and clinging limply to him by the arms that wind their way around his neck. Before her knees give out, he pins her firmly between the door frame and his body. When something between a moan and a whimper escapes her, when she arches against him seeking more than what his hungry kiss alone will provide, he starts to work on the buttons of her shirt.

He gets to the third button, the knuckles of each hand resting lightly against the swell of her warm breasts before he detects the faint sound of the rolling ocean outside. For a moment, he thinks that what he hears is the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins. It takes him a second or two longer to realize that, while he may hear that, what he hears is not entirely internal. Looking around for the source of the more external sound, he peers into the room beyond the threshold where they stand. His hands go instantly still. Her third button momentarily forgotten; courtesy of the breathtaking and tumultuous view beyond the room's enormous picture window. He stands motionless; transfixed by the beautiful and oddly familiar sight - though it takes him a moment to realize why it's as familiar as an old friend. It's every bit as familiar as the old friend who's here with him now, and every bit as uncharted as this strange and wonderful new territory they find themselves currently in.

It's the room from his dream; the recurring dream, the one that has haunted, tortured and delighted him for more than a year. Should he tell her about it? He wants to. He turns his gaze back to her only to find that he's been stunned speechless. He's also mildly surprised by the sensation of moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. Her soft patient smile is nothing short of glorious.

Understanding completely; she lets him go. She encourages and invites him into the room with nothing more than the slight sideways nod of her head, but he doesn't realize until she does it that it's an invitation he still needs.

Only once he has it, does he take three steps into the room to take a leisurely look around. He takes in all the familiar sights; not just the awesome one beyond the window. He recognizes the hardwood flooring, the inlaid floor to ceiling bookshelves, the antique hurricane lamp on the bedside table, the slow turning ceiling fan overhead, and the small day bed that was chosen, no doubt, more for convenience than for comfort or size. Mesmerized, and without turning, he reaches for her. In the same moment, he feels her arms slide easily around his waist as if she sensed his silent request for her nearness, and was already in motion, a ½ second before he made it.

"This is our room." He whispers; more pleased than he knows how to say when she simply nods. He doesn't know why she should, but he knows she understands. "I've been here before." He confesses. "So many times I've lost count." She doesn't argue or question what he says, but she hangs on every word. "Sarah, I dream about this room. I've been coming here in my sleep for over a year."

She nods again, this time as if some new understanding is falling softly into place.

His momentarily stalled desire begins to build anew when he feels soft hands find their way beneath his unbuttoned shirt once more. He can't quite contain the groan of pleasure that escapes him when her feather-light kiss finds the sensitive hollow below his ear.

"Was I with you in these dreams?"

"Oh yeah; you were definitely with me!" He manages to grind out the words in a ragged, breathless whisper.

She raises a seductive eyebrow; and she's close enough for him to see it even in the darkness. "Ah, I see… Do you want to tell me about it?" She asks, as if the question alone gives her a delicious thrill.

He opens his mouth to speak, then seems to change his mind. Snapping it closed again, he shakes his head. Stepping back, he closes the bedroom door, then returns to her and lifts her feet off the floor. As her legs wind around him, she leans in for a heated kiss, which he willingly delivers; pausing only long enough to whisper. "I'd rather show you."

**Much, much later…**

Unaware that he had drifted off until he wakes, Harm opens his eyes to find himself in bed alone. He sits up, listening for any sound of movement. He doesn't hear anything, or at least not anything inside. The house is so silent that if he listens hard, he can hear the waves breaking on the beach. For a moment, he stares out the big window and finds himself mesmerized, not for the first time tonight, by the fact that this place actually exists outside of his dreams. With memories of their lovemaking playing through his mind, he waits.

Just when he'd decides to get up and go in search of his new bunk mate, she slips into the room on silent feet, and slides back under the blankets with him.

"Where'd you go." He whispers, folding his arms around her and pulling her close.

"To put an extra blanket over Laura. It gets cold in that room at night."

"When exactly did you become Aunt Mac?"

She smiles, resting her head on his chest. "Officially…not quite seven years ago, but I've only known about it for the last year and ½. I bumped into my mother. Turns out, I have a sister. Mom was pregnant when she left Joe."

"Must be nice to reconnect with family." He says, nuzzling her ear.

"My family? You're joking right?" She asks, her mood darkening a little. The only good part about it is Laura. Nothing much has changed Harm. My life is still a train wreck, but if it takes the last breath in my body, I'm going to make sure that her life turns out better than mine."

"Is there a problem?”

"I wish there were only _a_ problem, if there were only _a_ problem; as in just one…"

"Tell me." He says gently.

So she does. She tells him about meeting her mother again, about meeting Casey and Laura, about Casey's drinking, about her boyfriend's lousy temper, about getting Laura out of the trailer on Saturday, about the injured police officer, about Laura's needs, about the neglect, and the potential custody battle that is around the corner. She tells him about it all, and when she is done, his only question is. "How can I help?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews help feed my muse and the creative process. Thanks for commenting and most of all, for reading.
> 
> Update: This story became part one of an on-going saga. To continue the journey, look for additional JAG stories penned by 1JaggedOutlawQueen


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